The Burdens of a Generation
by MiaReya
Summary: "Every generation has its own burden to carry, and ours it seems, is heavier than most. We are the sons of struggle and the daughters of discord. Thrust into adulthood much too soon, saddled with the consequences of our parents' choices and ours as well, we are the children of war, and this is the burden of our generation."
1. Perfectly Awful

This story will be told through multiple POV chapters. At the start of each chapter we will jump to a new POV character, it is my hope that through this method the story will be told with more dimension, as it is told through the eyes and inner thoughts of many people each with their own unique perspective. The number of POV characters has not yet been finalised and there may be more added as we go along. Please keep in mind that the chapters are not necessarily in chronological order and that the timeline may jump around a bit, often with chapters overlapping each other. There will be many canon situations in this story and many places where it will diverge from canon altogether. It will mostly be book canon but I have taken a few things from the films. Such as the manner of dress, as I find myself unable to picture many of the characters in plain robes most of the time. I just can't picture the baddies like Lucius Malfoy or Severus Snape spending their days in something that is so much like a dress, I just can't make it work in my mind. So the way the characters dress will be much like films, including the school uniforms.

I realise that many of you may be wondering about that parings in this story, as I often am when I begin reading. Some of them I have already decided, some I have not because I would like to see where the story flows without having to force it in one direction or another because I have a specific paring in mind. Some with be canon some will not. I will say however, that there will be no slash parings in this story for several reasons. First and foremost being that J.K. Rowling has never given any indication that any of the characters, with the exception of Dumbledore, are homosexual. I believe that changing a characters sexual orientation is much like changing their race, it is how they are born and is a large part of who they are, if a character is White, Black, Asian, Indian, multiracial, LGBT, or hetero, that is who they are and that is something that I will not change. Secondly I just don't think I could write any slash if I tried. That's not to day that I haven't read any slash parings that I've enjoyed, I am simply saying that I won't write it. I would also like to say that this story will completely disregard the epilogue, which I was not happy with to say the least. There are no OC's in this story, but you will find at least one character taken from Pottermore. Although not mentioned directly in the books I think that most of us take Pottermore as an extension of canon, which is nice because its given us in the fanfiction world a bit more to play around with. All of that being said on to the disclaimer:

I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters mentioned in the following story. All rights belong to J.K Rowling, Warner Brothers, and Bloomsbury publishing and its subsidiaries. I make absolutely no profit from this writing.

* * *

Harry  
Privet Drive  
Little Whinging, Surrey

* * *

It was a very hot day, and not in the beautiful sunny summer day type of way, more like national news, record breaking temperatures type of hot. The stifling temperatures had dragged on for days, robbing everyone of their energy and sending most people in the Southeast of England indoors, where they could laze about and enjoy a break from the relentless heat. This was true for almost all of the residents of Privet only person still outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flower bed beneath the open window of Number 4.

Number 4 Privet Drive was an unremarkable house in a neighbourhood full of identical unremarkable houses. It was a neighbourhood full of dreary unexceptional people, whose biggest goals in life were to have the greenest lawn, the newest car, or the most gifted children. A perfectly normal neighbourhood, with perfectly normal houses, perfectly manicured lawns, perfectly boring people, and Number 4 was home to the perfectly dreadful Dursley family. In fact, there was only one thing, or rather, one person on perfectly normal Privet Drive, that wasn't normal at all, and he was currently lying in a flower bed.

He was a skinny, black-haired boy who wore glasses with round silver frames. He had a haggard, slightly pinched look about him, but that was probably due to the fact that he'd grown several inches in very short amount of time. His black hair stuck out in all directions and simply refused to be tamed, he'd inherited that from his father, and his eyes, a rare shade of sparkling emerald green, those had come from his mother. His denims were torn and more than a little dirty, his T-shirt was at least three sizes too big and faded, and the soles of his trainers were starting to peel away. Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the perfectly normal residents of perfectly awful Privet Drive. They were the sort of people who thought that scruffiness ought to be a punishable crime. Of course the fact that everyone in the neighbourhood had been warned to stay away from "that Potter boy" who, they'd been told, was a hardened hoodlum that attended St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, didn't help endear him either. That was of course, a spectacular lie, but Harry's relatives, the perfectly dreadful Dursley's, thought it much better than telling the truth because the truth was anything but normal. He was neither a hoodlum nor a criminal, and he did not attend any place called St. Brutus's. Harry Potter was a wizard and every year from September through June he attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that was definitely not something the Dursley's would tell anyone on Privet Drive. So lying hidden from passersby behind a large hydrangea bush, fifteen year old Harry Potter was anything but normal, and he was just fine with that, thank-you-very-much.

Harry was not happy, in fact it was quite the opposite, he was actually rather livid. It was now the 2nd of August and he'd been stuck with his relatives, the Dursley's, for over a month. His aunt and uncle Petunia and Vernon Dursley, were not particularly pleasant people, and they were anything but pleased about the fact that Harry was still there. The Dursley's residence, number four Privet Drive, in Little Whinging Surrey, was the place that he called home during the summer holiday, though home was a term that Harry used loosely when he thought about number 4. Home in Harry's mind, his real home, was Hogwarts. Hogwarts was a truly wondrous place, an enchanted castle full of other magical children, talking portraits, moving staircases and classes on magical subject, ghosts, elves, and even a pesky poltergeist. Hogwarts and the magical world in general, was also the very first place where he ever felt like he truly belonged. Oh, how he wished that he lived in the magical world full time like his best friend Ron Weasley. Unfortunately Harry lived here on perfectly non-magical Privet Drive, with the perfectly muggle Dursley's, who hated him and all things that had anything to do with magic. His exile to the muggle world was just one of the reasons for Harry's anger, he had many, and the list got longer with every passing day. It was partly his anger, and part desperation, that brought him to the flower bed on that hot summer evening.

Overall Harry was quite pleased with himself; he thought his idea of hiding in the flower bed was a rather clever one. Sure it was not the most comfortable place lying on the hard packed earth. He had sweat running into his eyes from the heat, there was a rather pointy rock jabbing into the centre of his back, and he was pretty sure that some sort of bug had just crawled under his trousers and was now making its way up his leg. There was nothing to do about it now though; he'd just heard his aunt and uncle make their way into the lounge. He'd just have to deal with the sweat stinging his eyes try and ignore the pointy rock, and hope that whatever kind of bug was crawling on his leg was not any sort that would bite or sting. The last thing that Harry needed was for them to catch him like this, that would lead to a confrontation that he'd really rather not have.

There would be no need for any of this his aunt and uncle, the perfectly repulsive Dursley's, would just let him sit in the house and watch the news. No need to lay in a flower bed hidden behind hydrangea bushes. No need to deal with sweat in his eyes or, pointy back jabbing rocks, and he definitely wouldn't need to deal with trouser invading bugs! On the other hand at least out here he could listed to the news in peace, no one grinding their teeth, mumbling under their breath, shooting him suspicious glares, or asking him nasty questions. Apparently wanting to watch the news warranted suspicion, but then again the Dursley's were suspicious of Harry no matter what he did.

As if on cue his Uncle Vernon suddenly spoke. "Seems like the boy's finally got the point… Where is he anyway?"

"I don't know, not in the house. I haven't seen him in hours." His Aunt Petunia answered. "_Watching the news…" _Petunia said like it was the worst thing in the world a person could do.

"I'd like to know what he's really playing at. No normal boy his age cares what's on the news – Dudley doesn't care what's going on, I don't think he even knows who the Prime Minister is!" Vernon said and Harry had to hold back a snort, _like having an ignoramus for a fifteen year old son was something to be proud of,_ he thought.

"Besides it's not like anyone in _his lot _is going to be on _our_ news…"

"Vernon!" Petunia snapped. "Quiet! The window's open."

"Oh – right – Sorry dear…."

His aunt and uncle fell silent. Harry was listening to an advert for Tesco when he noticed Mrs Figg, the batty old cat lady who lived over on Wisteria Walk, walking slowly past, and muttering to herself with her brows creased. Another reason to congratulate himself on his crafty hiding spot, Mrs Figg kept asking him to come by for tea and Harry wasn't particularly keen on joining her. Thankfully he remained completely hidden from anyone walking by. She had just rounded the corner when his uncle Vernon's voice came floating out the window again.

"Where's Dudders?"

"Out for tea, at the Polkisses'," Petunia gushed. "He's so popular, our Diddykins, he's got so many friends…" Harry rolled his eyes and tuned the rest of this conversation out. There was no way he was going to listen to the Dursley's going on and on about how wonderful Dudley was, again. If he didn't know any better, it would be hard to believe just how stupid his aunt and uncle were about their son. Harry knew full well that Dudley wasn't taking tea anywhere. No, Dudley was not having tea; he and his gang of simple minded miscreants spent every night occupying themselves in ways generally befitting the behaviour of proper juvenile delinquents. They spent their evenings smoking on the street corner, vandalising the play park, and beating up on small children.

The opening jingle of that signalled the start of the seven o'clock news reached his ears and he tensed turning his head slightly so that his right ear was tilted towards the window. Maybe tonight he would hear something – after over a month of waiting, maybe tonight he would finally…. Right – well maybe not. The very first story was about stranded holidaymakers, some sort of baggage- handlers strike. Well, that was somewhat anticlimactic. Surely if anything had happened it would be the top story on the news; things like massive scale destruction, deaths or mysterious disappearances were much bigger stories than that, no matter how many holidaymakers were stranded. Maybe it shouldn't, but this just added to Harry's frustration.

Every day this summer it was the same thing, over and over, he'd worry all day; fret and stress about what was going on until he was so tense he thought he'd snap. Then nothing, just nothing; he'd let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, then it would all the tension would come rushing back. It was both extremely relieving and extremely worrisome every night, after the news, when he realised that, yet again, nothing had happened. The biggest question that plagued his mind again and again, was why – why hadn't he heard anything? Why did it seem like nothing was going on? And most importantly why hadn't Voldemort done anything? Not that Harry really wanted him to go out and cause death and destruction, but the fact that Voldemort had been back for over a month and hadn't done a thing, gave Harry a very heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

As the news continued on to a helicopter crash and the record breaking heat and drought Harry decided it was time to move on. He was uncomfortable, sweaty, and that bloody bug was still crawling all over his leg. There was no use sticking around if there wasn't anything to hear, and the longer he stayed the more he risked getting caught. Slowly he rolled over on to his belly and began to crawl towards the end of the house, once he reached the end he crawled round the corner before standing up, making sure to step on several of his aunt Petunia's flowers for good measure. Harry brushed most of the dirt off of his clothes and gave his leg several good shakes until he saw the spider fall out of his trousers onto the top of his trainer. He watched it crawl away with a grunt, _turns out it was the sort of bug to bite._ Without the distraction of the television an anxious feeling slammed its way back into the pit of Harry's stomach and his thoughts were spinning in the uneasy way he'd become familiar with over the last month. He stood there for a moment and decided that he wasn't ready to go back inside Number 4. If he went inside the house he was likely to snap at the first rude or stupid thing his Uncle said, and because almost everything Vernon Dursley said to Harry was rude or stupid, going inside would not lead to anything good.

He briefly thought about where to go before he made his way through the yard and turned left. Harry was about a block away from Number 4 when a loud crack rang through the air. He jumped slightly and spun around, his heart hammering in his chest and his eyes darting up and down Privet Drive. He didn't see anything unusual and he was thinking that maybe no one else heard the noise when he saw his uncle Vernon's portly head come shooting out the window of number 4. Harry watched as his uncle gazed franticly up and down the street, apparently he'd heard the noise too. When Vernon's gaze returned to where he was standing once, twice and then three times, Harry turned on his heel and quickly trudged off down the street before his Uncle could find a way to blame him for the loud crack. It was after all, an unusual noise, and in Vernon Dursley's mind, any unusual occurrence on Privet Drive was always, somehow, Harry Potter's fault. The last thought that crossed his mind as he turned the corner off of Privet Drive was how glad he was that he'd moved out of the flower bed when he had. Two minutes longer and his uncle would have caught him hiding under the window, and that, most certainly, would not have ended well at all.


	2. Troubled Times

Blaise

North Wiltshire

Not especially far from Little Whinging in distance, but worlds away all the same, two teenaged boys made their way across a sprawling property in Wiltshire. Side by side, each with a broom stick in hand, they wound up foot paths, twisted trough rose-gardens, and wondered past a small pond in silence. They felt no need to talk, and neither of them was in any particular hurry to get where they we going. After several hours of strenuous, competitive flying, they were both content to make their way lazily back to the expansive Manor that adorned the lush property. Twenty minutes prior, overcome with exhaustion, they returned to the ground for the first time in hours and agreed to head into the house to get something to eat. The two boys, who had known each other nearly all their lives, were both very alike and very different in many ways.

Both were ambitious, intelligent, and insightful when they wanted to be, manipulative if they felt they needed to be, and they tended to fall back onto aloofness and sarcasm more often than not. Yes, their personalities were comparable in many ways, but for every similarity there were many ways in which they were different. Physically, well – they were both tall for their age and slender, but that was where the similarities stopped.

The first boy was the quieter of the two, content to sit back and observe. He called himself a people-watcher, taking in all manner of details: personality traits, behaviour patterns, mannerisms and quirks, and he catalogued every detail. As a result he knew a great deal about the people around him. He could tell if they were out of sorts, bothered by something or even when they were lying, which people tend to do more often than one would think. He carried himself with an overconfident demeanour that was frequently taken for arrogance. Those he did not know well were under the impression that he rarely spoke, which was untrue, he spoke quite often with the people he was close to, and simply put, he didn't believe in talking just for the sake of talking. He stood just over six feet, with chocolate coloured skin. He wore his black hair clipped short and had long almond shaped slanting black eyes. His facial features were well-defined, a long straight nose, high cheek bones and a sharp jaw line. At fifteen he was already quite nice to look at and it was clear that one day, Blaise Zabini would be a devastatingly handsome man.

The second boy was more boisterous, he had a tendency to be a braggart in the ways only a teenage boy could be. He attempted to carry himself with the same confidence as his friend but fell short, as his exaggerated sense of self-importance was a well-constructed cover for his personal feelings of inadequacy, and he was inclined to bully others in attempt to feel better about himself. In looks he was almost as opposite of his friend as one could be. His pale skin gave him an almost transparent glow. His hair was the fairest colour of blond, and was a few inches long with his fringe often sweeping across his forehead into his eyes. His features were sharp and almost pointed in a way that gave off an aristocratic air. His nose was long and slender and his jaw finely chiselled, but the most striking thing about Draco Malfoy was the colour of his eyes. They were a most unusual shade of grey that would burn like molten silver when his emotions ran high.

They had just made their way to the north east corner of the house when loud voices carrying from a window above brought them both to an abrupt halt. A quick look passed between them and words were unnecessary, they were going to listen in on what was being said. It was clear that the conversation they were listening to was a very heated one and the two voices seemed to get louder each time they spoke. A woman's voice rang out loud and clear, she was nearly yelling now.

"No this time you will listen to me! For twenty years I have listened to you, twenty years! I listened when you told me you were doing the right thing. I listened to you go on and on about fixing all that was wrong with the world. I listened," She spat; it was easy for Blaise to hear the venom in her voice. "For years I listened to talk of power and glory and how greatly you'd be rewarded. Bring back the old ways, you said, the proper ways, keeping the magical world pure. Oh, the Dark Lords victory was certain, and how wonderful it would be. But it wasn't wonderful was it? One wrong move, one wrong statement and… I listened to you, fourteen years ago when you told me the Dark Lord was gone. Tell me; were you as shocked by his return as I? Or did you know all along? I am quite through listening to you, Lucius!" She was interrupted by an overly calm drawling male voice.

"Narcissa, there is so much that you do not understand."

"Then make me understand Lucius! Because from where I am sitting it all seems perfectly clear. You, in your twisted quest for who knows what… power perhaps, are once again leading this family blindly down a very dangerous and deadly path. And I'll not stand for it! Make sure that is something you understand. I won't have it!" Blaise tried to keep his face as impassive as possible,_ this was quite interesting…_

"Oh, you won't stand for it? And what path shall I choose then?" Lucius Malfoy snarled at his wife. "No one walks away from the Dark Lord, you know that Narcissa. You stay or you die. Is that what you wish for me Narcissa, death? Because that is all that would be left should I be foolish enough to turn my back on him."

"Of course not, yet you turn your back on your family with disturbing ease! I am well aware that leaving is not an option, but I fear that even if it were your choice is already made. Nothing, it seems, will make you want to leave the Dark Lord." She was yelling now, full out. Narcissa Malfoy was nothing if not a lady, and Blaise, though he's know the Malfoy family for most his life, was sure that this was the first time that he'd ever heard her yell.

"WANT TO?" Lucius Malfoy bellowed. "Why should I want to leave the Dark Lords service? He means to bring the magical world to the way things should be, those of the purest blood in power…" She interrupted, her voice thundering.

"Oh yes, purity and power the bastion of talking points, you know what I think? To hell with it! Lucius, Are you even listening to yourself? Your service to him… service indeed! You are a Malfoy, born to one of the oldest families in Europe. You are a strong, intelligent, and powerful wizard. Yet you cower at his feet, you beg his leave, grovel, and bow to him! Like some weak minded peasant come to flatter and beg of a king. You stand in his ranks as an equal among simpletons like Crabbe and Goyle. You were a born leader who could have been destined for great things and you throw it all away to lay your life, our lives, at his feet. You have handed your power over in service to another, that's all you are Lucius, a servant! Do not fool yourself, thinking he will give you anything, he means power and glory for no one but himself. That's all you will ever be Lucius, a powerful man who gave it all up to bow as a servant. And now this…" She was cut off suddenly by a loud growl and the crash of glass shattering. _Oh… this was really getting exciting, he thought, they've started throwing things._

"ENOUGH! You go too far! You are making something out of nothing. I will hear no more of this. You are dangerously close to treachery in the eyes of the Dark Lord, Narcissa, and your words could very well become deadly." Lucius was shouting now as well, his voice shanking in anger.

"And what Lucius, you'll stand by and watch as he murders me for daring to have a mind of my own?" Her voice was suddenly quieter, almost sad. "He has you catering to his whims, running about the country doing whatever he bid you to do. And now he starts to inquire about Draco. That is where I draw my line Lucius, at my son. And you have the audacity to sit there, calm as you please, and tell me it is nothing. He already has you, Lucius; he will not have my son as well, not now, not ever." The voices in the room quickly went silent and both boys inhaled sharply and looked at each other with wide startled eyes._ The Dark Lord was asking after Draco?_ This sent Blaise's mind racing, what does he want with a fifteen year old? Their gaze snapped instantly back to the window when the heard clicking footsteps and a door opening.

"I'll not speak of it again Lucius, but let me make one last thing unmistakably clear; If any harm comes to Draco because of this I'll never forgive you." He had to strain to hear now, as her voice became an icy whisper. "And if, gods forbid, it is anything worse, and my son ends up dead… _I will kill you myself_." He heard a few more high heeled footsteps and then a door slammed so loud it made them both jump.

Blaise watched quietly as Draco stood with his eyes closed and his breathing was slow and deliberate. He was sure that Draco's thoughts were reeling from everything they'd just overheard, because his own mind was spinning and the conversation hadn't even been about him. It had been disturbing to hear. The thought of being dragged into a war at fifteen, into the service of someone as unstable and dangerous as the Dark Lord sent chills down his spine, yes, it was very disturbing indeed. For someone as boisterous and inclined to bragging as Draco was, he'd been shockingly silent about the possibility of one day joining his father as a Death Eater. Blaise couldn't help but wonder about that, he'd made up his own mind a while ago, when he'd first understood that the return of the Dark Lord was a certainty rather than a possibility, and he'd expected Draco to be just as adamant about his own choice. After all, Draco's father had ingrained the ideals of pureblood superiority in him since birth, teaching him to believe in all the things the Dark Lord advocated, and as far as he knew Draco agreed with it all. What really threw his though was Mrs Malfoy; in his mind she'd always been just as resolute as her husband when it came to matters of blood and the hierarchy of the wizarding world. Although if he really thought about it, it really wasn't all that surprising, her last statement was enough to tell him that. Never having received that type of love and devotion from his own mother it was easy to spot in Draco's mother. That was the only thing he envied in his friend, the devotion of a mother, it was the only thing that Draco had that he did not. His mother played the doting type well enough in public when he was younger, in reality though, she made it all too clear that he was nothing more than a major inconvenience in her life. Her sixth husband and his fourth step father died recently and she was off once again, the beautiful socialite in search of another husband. Not that it mattered much; he hadn't seen her in over two years.

Narcissa Malfoy was a different type of woman altogether, when she doted over Draco it was completely real. She loved her son in the ways only a mother can, her dedication to him was second to none, not even her husband. She was the type of mother who would move mountains for her child, do anything and everything to keep him safe, and yes, even kill for him if it came down to that. It was good to know that Draco would have someone that strong, loyal and steadfastly dedicated to his wellbeing. Because after hearing that conversation he knew without a doubt that troubled times were ahead for the Malfoy family and Draco would need all the support he could get. He will always be there for Draco just as he always has been, but it is difficult to back up someone who doesn't necessarily want it. Draco was stubborn, wilful, and Blaise had never known him to ask for help, ever.

He waited for Draco to react but the other boy remained perfectly still and uncharacteristically quiet. A major blow up was coming, that much he knew, after Draco was done thinking things over several times, when the shock wore off, his irritation kicked in, or he was sufficiently indignant, that's when he would finally let loose. Generally these outbursts were saved until they were alone, then he would unleash a torrent of words, complete with exaggerated hand gestures, a chain of rather creative expletives, and a stream of abuse directed at whatever or whomever he was railing against. When the time came he would listen carefully, mull over his own thoughts, and reply honestly, albeit cautiously, even if his honestly was the last thing that Draco wanted to hear. This situation would call for extreme prudence on his part, for it was a much more serious subject matter than anything they'd ever discussed, and the last thing he wanted was something like this to cause a rift between them. Resigning himself to the long night and very thought-provoking conversation that was to come he took a deep breath and placed his hand on his friends shoulder.

"Come on Draco, we'd best get inside. You put the brooms up and I'll pop down to the kitchen, get the house-elves to fix us something. We'll eat down there if you like; it's away from the rest of the house." And your father never comes down there. He thought but didn't say out loud. Draco nodded but still appeared unable to speak as they started walking towards the back entrance of the manor that was still several hundred feet away. They walked in silence until they reached the door when Blaise stopped Draco. "There is no reason for your parents to ever know we overheard that," he said, but Draco understood what he really meant clear enough. '_I would never tell them about any of that or how much it bothers you.'_ This seemed to help Draco find his voice again. He abruptly shook his head as if to banish all the unpleasant thoughts and looked Blaise in the eyes. "Thanks." He said with a nod and then he turned and walked through the door.


	3. Sunshine, Rainbows and Unicorns

Harry  
Little Whinging

* * *

Harry made it a further two blocks from Number 4 before he realised the significance of the loud cracking sound he'd heard. It must've been someone apparating or disapparating, that much was obvious now that he thought about it. After all ear-splitting cracking noises were not a common occurrence on Privet Drive. The question plaguing his mind was who had been apparating or disapparating so close to the Dursley's house. There were no other magical folk in the area as far as he knew, was it possible that it was just someone passing through? Sure, but that seemed like far too convenient a coincidence. Then it struck him that maybe he was being watched. That seemed much more likely and was a thought he didn't like much at all. Perhaps, though, that would finally get some attention. He might just send that off in his next letter. Oh, he could see it now:

_Dear Sirius, _

_Everything is much the same here is Little Whinging, The Dursley's still hate me and my cousins still a foul git_. _So don't worry, nothing's changed on that front. As for me, well, I'm still bloody fantastic, just starting to go out of my mind with worry, after a whole month with no news at all._ _But don't fret over it, I've stayed out of trouble and I'll continue to keep my nose clean just like you said. Oh, and by the way, the strangest thing happened last night. I heard someone apparating right outside the house. Now I can't help thinking; who would be apparating on Privet Drive? I can' think of anyone at all… so it makes absolutely no sense. Unless someone, has been watching me, for some strange reason. It seems mad I know. Who would want to watch me? It couldn't possibly be a Death Eaters or anyone who works for Voldemort. Like I said it's completely mad, I mean why would Voldemort want me watched? Because, you know, it's not like he's the most powerful dark wizard the worlds ever known, who wants nothing more than to kill me or anything. That's just ridiculous, so I suppose I'll shut up about it now. Well I've got to be going, like I said don't worry about me. Everything here in Little Whinging is lovely, just sunshine, rainbows and bloody unicorns! _

_ Harry_

He let out a snort of laughter at the thought of seeing his godfathers face as he read that letter. Passive-aggressive, sarcastic letter that leaves ones godfather unsure whether to laugh or be upset? Check. He was more than half tempted to do it, _Right that would go over real well, _he thought, as he sat on the one remaining swing at the play park off Magnolia Drive. After all the rubbish letters he'd received in the last three weeks, he was almost itching to send off something like that. '_There's been a lot going on… can't say much… we've been busy…owls might go astray…' _and on and on it went _'keep your nose clean… stay out of trouble…don't do anything rash… whatever you do, don't use any magic…' _ Like he ran around waving his wand about, shooting spells at anything that moved, as if he was a child that had no concept of proper behaviour! It made his blood boil just thinking about it. Being told not to do anything rash by, Ron, Hermione, and Sirius, no less, just the thought had his nostrils flaring.

Ron's temper flared at the most preposterous things, such as the time he snapped at Hermione for attending the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum, who had previously been his idol then rapidly became the enemy upon asking Hermione on a date. He also tended to jump to conclusions, faster than you could say Hippogriff, like thinking Crookshanks killed Scabbers or that Harry entered his own name in the Triwizard Tournament. Speaking of hippogriffs there's Sirius, the wrongly convicted criminal, who broke out of prison and went on the run from the law. Then did the first thing that would make him seem guilty, he ran straight to Hogwarts and broke in, assaulted an innocent painting and dragged Ron, broken leg and all, through a two mile tunnel, intent on killing Peter Pettigrew, whose murder he'd been falsely convicted of in the first place. After that there was the part about escaping again, on a wanted and condemned hippogriff. Nope, not even the slightest bit rash. Then there was Hermione, she'd never do anything reckless like kidnapping an unregistered animagus reporter and hold her hostage in an unbreakable jar, so she could proceed to blackmail said reporter. _Yes,_ he thought, _it was quite maddening to be told not to do anything rash by the three of them. _

He was twisting back and forth in the swing brooding on his anger when he noticed his cousin Dudley, standing on the street corner opposite the park with his merry band of miscreants. They were passing a cigarette around, talking with over-the-top hand gestures, air-boxing and clapping each other's shoulders. Harry nodded to himself, understanding that in their primitive Neanderthal-like language, this all meant that Dudley had taken it upon himself to beat-up another of the neighbourhood children. They had yet to notice Harry sitting on the swing, and truth be told his anger was so far gone by this point, he practically wished they would. Almost anytime they saw him they tried to instigate a fight between himself and Dudley, and right now that seemed like a brilliant idea. He wouldn't even draw his wand, but he was so agitated that throwing a few well-placed punches sounded like good fun. He watched as Dudley threw the cigarette to the ground and they said their good byes, deciding to wait until the others were gone before approaching his cousin. If he couldn't punch the lot of them… well, at least Dudley was always easy to rile up.

"Alright there, Diddykins?" He asked as he walked up with a smirk on his face.

"What d'you want freak?" Dudley asked as he turned and started to walk away. "And don't call me that or I'll…"

"Or you'll what Dudders? Beat me up like you did that ten year old, two nights ago? No… I don't think you will," he said as he fell into step beside his cousin.

"I told you not to call me that!" Dudley snapped and his smirk grew wider.

"No, you told me not to call you Diddykins. But I won't call you Dudders either, if it bothers you that much, I can always go with Popkin or Dinky Diddydums if you'd like. That one's my favourite you know – Dinky Diddydums."

"Shut it!" Dudley spat. He noticed the stiffness in his cousin's back as they continued to walk, Dudley's hands were flexing opened and closed in what appeared to be an involuntary motion.

"You don't tell your mum to shut it when she calls you that. Do all your mates know that she still pinches your cheeks and calls you Popkin?" Harry was having fun now; he had to hold in his laughter as he watched Dudley coil his fists shut and take slow deep breaths.

"I said shut it."

"No, I don't think I will Diddykins." He wondered exactly how far he could push is cousin's self-control, further than he would have thought actually; a year ago Dudley would have resorted to threats if not violence already.

"You think you're such a big man, walking around with that – that stick in your pocket don't you?" Dudley was seething trying hard to control his temper now. He just smirked again in return.

"Stick in my pocket?" he asked. "Oh… you mean this." He said as he pulled out his wand and started twirling in around in his fingers. They had walked a couple blocks by now from Magnolia Drive onto Magnolia Crescent and they were turning into the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk when Dudley stopped.

"Put that away someone will _see_!" Dudley hissed.

"Oh god you're right," he gasped, "someone might see me holding a stick in my hand… Oh, the horror, walking and holding a stick at the same time, what will people think?" It was difficult not to laugh out loud now. "So what if anyone sees? It's just s stick, right Dudders?"

"You can't use it – I know you can't. I remember the rules; they'll chuck you out of that freak school you go to," said Dudley, trying to look and sound confident in his statement, and failing at both.

"You sure about that?" He asked with a rueful smile.

"Yes!" Dudley snapped puffing out his chest and squaring his shoulders. Harry just rolled his eyes and let out a dry chuckle.

"Maybe they changed the rules," he said watching his wand as it twirled in his fingers. "Or maybe, I don't care about the rules any more. Maybe I'll turn you, your mum, and your dad into fat gold fish, plop you in a bowl of water and leave you there."

He couldn't help but laugh at the look of horror that flashed across Dudley's face. He kept on chuckling to himself as he passed his cousin and continued walking into the alleyway. He'd made it five or six steps before Dudley found his voice again and said something that made him come to a dead stop.

"You think you're so brave, well you're not so brave at night are you? I can hear you – you know," he said. Harry spun on his heal to face his cousin and tried to remind himself to stay calm.

"I've no idea what you're talking about," he replied and turned on his heel to walk off again.

"Oh, you know – I hear you – _moaning and crying_." Dudley started walking again, struggling to catch up.

"Shut it Dudley!" Harry snarled not bothering to slow down. "You don't know anything." He had a very bad feeling about where this was going.

"_Don't kill him._" Dudley mocked. "_Help me, no not Cedric, don't kill him. Mum, dad, Help me he's going to kill me too!_" Before Harry even knew what he was doing, he had Dudley backed against a wall, his wand digging into his cousins cheek.

"I TOLD YOU TO SHUT IT!" He snapped, pushing his wand so hard it caused a dent in Dudley's plump cheek.

"DON'T POINT THAT THING AT ME, FREAK!" Dudley screamed back. He was shaking now, from fear or from anger Harry couldn't tell, probably both.

"One more word, Dudley, say one more word and I'll do worse that turning you into a gold fish, much worse," Harry seethed

"I'll – I'll tell," Dudley stuttered. "I'll tell dad."

"Yeah, Dud, run home to daddy and tell him that Harry pulled his evil freak stick on you, but make sure not to leave out the part about you being too scared to do anything about it." Harry was taunting him now, just because he could, something that would, no doubt, turn out to be a bad idea in the end, but damned if it didn't feel good to take it all out on someone.

He'd had that dream again last night. He was back in the graveyard watching, unable to do a thing, as Cedric died and Voldemort came back. It haunted him almost every night and now he knew that he was calling out in his dreams, and worse, his cousin had heard.

"You're going to be in so much trouble for this, just wait till dad hears. He'll lock you in your room for sure. Suppose that won't be so bad for you though, will it? Then you can cry about Cedric whenever you want. Who's Cedric anyway?"

"I said SHUT IT!" he thundered, jabbing his wand in Dudley's cheek as hard as he could when a woman's voice called from the end of the alleyway.

"Take that thing down from your cousin's cheek boy. You're just angry enough it might pop off. Then where will you be when you've blown the fat idiot to bits? Azkaban, that's where!" He jumped back a bit, but kept his wand pointed at Dudley's face and watched in disbelief as the woman came closer out of the shadows.

"What – wait… what?" he stammered, his mouth hanging open, gaping like a stupid fish. He knew he must look completely thick, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Mrs Figg?" he asked, as if his eyes were playing tricks on him. "You're a witch?"

"No, not a witch dear, I'm a squib," she answered not unkindly.

Dudley, who had taken note of Harry's distraction, and chose that moment to try and slip away, he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and reached out and smacked Dudley hard across the head with his wand.

"You stay!" he barked, and Dudley, not wanting to try his luck, rapidly froze.

He was still staring at Mrs Figg, his mouth wide open, when a thought struck him, it hit like the Hogwarts Express moving at top speed. His mouth snapped shut and the feeling of shock was quickly replaced by sheer rage.

"You_ knew_…" he said. It wasn't a question; the accusation flew out of his mouth with so much fervour that he nearly surprised himself. "You knew… all this time, about everything, didn't you? About my parents, and about magic, about all the lies that the Dursley's told me, you knew and you never said anything."

"Well yes, and I really am quite sorry for that dear, but Dumbledore thought that it was best that way." _Well, _he thought, _at least she has the decency to look sorry. _

"You know Dumbledore?" stupid question… he wasn't even sure why he'd asked. He really needed to work on not blurting out the first thing that popped into his head. But it wasn't Mrs Figg that answered; it was someone standing behind him.

"Of course, everyone knows Dumbledore."

"Oh, there you are dear." Said Mrs Figg as Harry spun around.

"I thought it best to check the other end of the alleyway, make sure no muggles wandered this way. Since it appears we've a bit of a standoff going on."

It was another woman, but she was much younger that Mrs Figg. Harry thought she looked to be nineteen maybe twenty years old, and he knew he'd seen her before but he couldn't seem to place where.

"You know Dumbledore too?" he asked. He was gaping stupidly again, he really needed to stop doing that.

"Didn't I just say that everyone knows Dumbledore?" she answered, and she was just a bit patronising about it too. Her tone reminded him of Hermione a bit, when she'd begun to lose patience with either Ron or himself.

"Are you a squib as well?" Harry asked and she shook her head in reply.

"A witch then?" this time she nodded.

Harry looked at her closely then, he should be able to recognise her from Hogwarts she was close enough to his age she had to have been there at some point in the last four years. She was close to his height, about 5 feet 7 inches, maybe a bit shorter. Her skin was almost bronze coloured. She had high cheek bones and large dark eyes. He couldn't tell the exact colour in the dim light but he was sure they were black like her hair, which fell to her shoulders in extremely tight curls. Now he was sure he knew her from somewhere, she looked very familiar. He wanted to ask her about Hogwarts but before he could Dudley spoke up.

"Can I go now?" he asked.

"No!" Harry yelled jabbing his wand at him in emphasis.

"Good thing we got here when we did, Mrs Figg. This is just sort of thing Dumbledore's been worried about," the young woman said.

"Dumbledore?" Harry asked "What are you talking about?" Dumbledore obviously wasn't worried about him. Why would Dumbledore have left him here, on Privet Drive, for a whole month with no word on anything if he was worried? But neither Mrs Figg nor the other woman answered.

"Harry, dear," said Mrs Figg cautiously. "Why don't you put your wand away, there's no use pointing it at your cousin like that." He narrowed his eyes, considering it. It's not like he could actually use it, and he didn't really want to hurt Dudley… well not badly, anyway.

"Alright," he said as he brought his wand down, "but answer my question about Dumbledore." He watched as the young woman looked to Mrs Figg, eyebrows raised, it seemed she was referring to the authority of the older woman, asking for permission.

Dudley, who was waiting for a chance to slip away, was looking between Harry and the two women, waiting for his chance to pull a runner. He was slowly creeping away; he glanced first at Harry, who was distracted, waiting for his answers. Then to Mrs Figg, the loopy old cat lady, and she wasn't paying any attention to him. Lastly he looked at the other woman, who'd, said she was one of _them_. She didn't really look like one of that lot to him, she wasn't dressed all freakishly like those nutters that broke out of the wall last year, and she hadn't pulled out one of those – things yet, but she was looking at the old lady. It seemed like the perfect time to slip away. Dudley made it exactly four steps before someone grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him back. Harry hadn't even noticed until he heard the young woman question Dudley.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

Dudley tried to wretch himself free but she held tight. "Get off me freak!" Dudley snapped at her in his most intimidating voice, but that turned out to be a poor choice of words.

"_Freak?" _she yanked Dudley again so that she was looking him directly in the eyes. When she continued her voice was eerily calm, Harry thought, it didn't fit at all with the look in her eyes. "Did you really just call me a freak? You must have some nerve – this from the boy who's just about as wide as he is tall. Why you nasty, insignificant, foul little ingrate…"

"Don't mind him," Harry interjected. "He's been calling me a freak for years. He's not smart enough to come up with any new insults, are you Diddykins?"

"Shut it you! When dad hears about this you're in so much trouble, I'll tell him you've been doing that stuff again, you're going to get it this time…" but Dudley's threat was cut short. It only took a split second for the hand holding his collar to let go and meet the back of his hear with a painful – _SMACK. _"OW! You can't…" he started to say, only to be slapped again.

"It would be best for you if you'd just stop talking, now," said the young woman. Dudley was just smart enough to get the point and kept his mouth firmly shut. Something that was particularly difficult when Harry had such a satisfied smile on his face. Now that Dudley was finished being an idiot, Harry had questions he wanted answered.

"Now will someone please answer my questions about Dumbledore? And not to be rude, but who are you?"

At exactly that moment that the air in the alleyway seemed to shift, the young witch and wizard were the first to notice, and they both stiffened instantly, waiting with baited breath. Suddenly it got very dark, like the last of the light had been snuffed out, and Harry was quick to noticed when it became unnaturally cold, sending gooseflesh down his arms.

"No, it can't be…" he heard the young woman whisper. '_Yes…' _he wanted to answer, _'yes, but how? And why?' _

"Oh dear," he heard Mrs Figg whisper worried.

Then Dudley decided to completely lose his mind. "WHAT'S GOING ON?" he bellowed, Harry could hear rustling, as Dudley was blindly moving, franticly looking around for a way out of the alleyway. "I CAN'T SEE! I CAN'T SEE! WHAT DID YOU DO?" Harry didn't even bother answering.

The young woman lit her wand looked briefly at him before pointing it at Dudley and whispering. "You be quiet. We need to be able to hear. I mean it you idiot, not one word out of you." Then she turned to him with a grim look. "Wand out Potter, don't do anything yet but have it ready. You can produce a corporeal Patronus, can't you?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Good, because mine's a bit on the weak side, but please don't do anything unless it's absolutely the last option." Her voice was quiet and deadly serious.

"OK," he breathed back.

She move quickly then, grabbing Dudley roughly and placing him between them and doing the same with Mrs Figg, only she was much gentler with the old woman.

"Alright Potter, turn your back to them, I'll face the opposite way. We'll walk the way I'm facing. Remember keep them between us, they are completely defenceless."

Slowly they made their way to the end of the alley, it was tricky walking backwards in the near dark, and he kept bumping into Dudley and stumbling. They'd gone about thirty feet when he heard it, the ragged, drawing, and rattling breathing that could only mean one thing.

"D'you…" he started to ask.

"Yes." She hissed.

She could hear them too, until now he'd been hoping he was wrong, but they'd both felt it, both heard it, and now he could see it. The eerie dark figure came lurching into view, its decaying almost skeletal hand poking out from its tattered black robes. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, his stomach seemed to sink and sink; surely it was all the way down in his trainers by now. He tried not to shake, but having met Dementors on several previous occasions, he couldn't help the feeling of dread that swept over him. _'This cannot be happening,' _he thought, _'what the hell are Dementors doing in Surry?' _

"Shite!" Harry was sure that curse could only mean one thing; there was a Dementor in the front of the group as well.

"I've got one back here," he told her.

"I see two up here, but there could be more," she answered.

"Dud, Mrs Figg… alright?" Harry asked, but he didn't get to hear the answer. At that moment all three of the Dementors swept down on the group. Harry pushed his back against Dudley and used his arm to hold the other boy behind him. They were closing in now and Harry had his wand up, ready to use. He was trying to focus on his happy thought, but Dudley had begun to struggle and yell. He pushed himself to block out his cousin's frantic screaming, telling himself over and over to find his happiest memory and hold on to it. He was ready, he could do this, Gryffindor courage set stubbornly in place he waited, the young woman had told him not to do anything unless he absolutely had to. The Dementors were so close now he could feel it, starting to chip away at every bit of happiness he had. What was she doing up there? Why hadn't she cast her Patronus yet?

Years of bad memories assaulted him one after the other, the chamber with the stone, the Basilisk in the chamber of secrets, the graveyard, and the woman screaming… a flash of green light. Vaguely, as if it was far off, he heard a woman's voice.

"Expecto Patronum," she called, once, then twice and then a flash of silver seemed to bring him back to his mind.

"Potter, are you with me? Potter?" she called.

"Yeah," he said "Yeah I'm here…"

"I've just pushed them back a little, they'll try again. My Patronus wasn't strong enough."

It all happened so fast then, Dudley was screaming, Harry felt him fall to the ground, and saw a Dementor hovering over him. Harry saw another one coming his way.

"DAMMIT!" she yelled, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry saw the spell start to take shape, but it quickly flickered and died, that's when he heard her wand clatter to the ground. One of them was on her now too. Harry pushed Mrs Figg back, trying to shield her with his own body.

"Potter," the witch croaked, "do it, NOW!" That was all he needed to hear, he screamed the words and it took him two tries as well, but when the familiar stag leapt forth he knew they were saved.

"GET THEM," he demanded, and pointed his wand at all three of the Dementors, one after the other, watching it leap at the revolting, soul sucking creatures.

Harry fell to his knees when it was over. Sucking in air like a drowning man. After a few moments he saw Mrs Figg, helping the other woman to her feet, and noticed that Dudley was still lying flat on his back. He crawled over to his cousin who was taking short frantic breaths, sweating, and shaking. He grabbed Dudley's shoulders, shaking him, and calling his name over and over. Dudley's eyes wouldn't focus and the only noise he was making was a miserable grunting.

"Dudley," he yelled, "DUDLEY! Come on Dud, say something." He was beginning to panic now. "Oh god," he cried, "Oh, god he's been kissed." He continued to shake Dudley's shoulders, even slapped his cousins face a few times to try and make him focus, but it didn't seem to be working.

"No, he hasn't been kissed. If he had he wouldn't be moving or making any sort of noise. Most likely he's in shock." Harry looked over and noticed the young witch was kneeling next to him. "Please calm down potter, I need you calm," she said placing her hand on his shoulder.

Mrs Figg finally spoke up after remaining silent through the whole ordeal. "Come on, get him up. We need to get moving in case they come back."

"She's right Potter, we need to get out of here, the sooner the better."

He nodded and made several attempts to get his cousin on his feet. He struggled with Dudley for more than a few minutes, but the bigger boy wouldn't do anything more than shake and mumble. He even tried to physically lift the boy himself, but that proved just as futile, Dudley was much too big. Harry dropped the other boys arm and watched as it flopped down limp and lifeless with a thud. "It's no use," he said, "there's no way I can lift him, he's just too heavy."

The witch looked at him then at Dudley, pursed he lips and scrunched up her nose. She must be thinking over what to do next, either that or she had some very odd facial expressions. No, she had definitely been thinking because suddenly her nose was no longer scrunched and Harry watched her eyebrows rise slightly before she looked back at him.

"Right, well… we're not supposed to use magic on muggles, strictly speaking. So I'd really appreciate it if we left this bit out when we explain this mess to the Ministry," she said.

He forced himself to nod as he watched her quick wand work. In a matter of seconds Dudley was immobilized, floating, and to Harry's amazement shimmering briefly before he disappeared.

"Where'd he go?" Harry asked.

"Nowhere Potter, he's been disillusioned. We can't very well walk through a muggle neighbourhood with him floating along after us can we?"

With that she nodded at him pointed her wand at his invisible floating cousin and began to walk, taking Mrs Figg by the arm and making sure the older woman was okay. He stood still watching for several seconds before shaking his head and taking off after them.

"You said something about the Ministry, do you really think that we'll have to explain all this to them?" he asked.

"Without a doubt, Potter," she answered, "and we'd best come up with a damn good tale too. If I don't say anything about being here they will surely accuse you of lying about the Dementors. If I tell them I was here they'll wonder why… it's awfully convenient you see – my being here right when you get attacked."

"Oh that's easy dear," said Mrs Figg, "Tufty, one of my half kneazle's just had kittens. We were meeting tonight because you were interested in one."

The young woman smiled at Mrs Figg. "Of course I was, in all of the commotion it must have slipped my mind."

"That's all well and good, but why will it matter? Once I tell them that there were Dementors they'll know that I had to defend myself. They can't punish me for that."

"Who controls the Dementors, Potter?" she asked with one eyebrow raised and her head tilted to the side.

"The Ministry," he answered quickly, why she was asking questions with stupidly obvious answers was beyond him.

"And when you march into the Ministry, in all your Gryffindor glory, and accuse them of setting Dementors, which they control, loose in a muggle neighbourhood…" She was looking at him wide eyed, nodding slightly and waving her hand in a circular motion, as if she was willing him to understand. He had to roll his eyes at himself when he finally understood what she was getting at.

"Yeah, that won't go over well, will it…" he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Not at all," she huffed.


	4. The World's Gone Sideways

Blaise

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.

* * *

They had been sitting at the kitchen table for close to twenty minutes and so far neither boy had said more than two words. Blaise watched closely out of the corner of his eye as Draco pushed his food around the plate and stared, narrow eyed, at the three house-elves whispering intensely to each other on the other side of the large kitchen. This was puzzling; in all the years they'd known each other he couldn't remember his friend ever taking any interest in the behaviour of house-elves. He realised however, that the house-elves were probably a welcome distraction from the myriad of other things that could be occupying Draco's thoughts. He watched the three elves briefly before allowing his eyes to wander over the rest of the kitchen.

The room was quite large, and very historic. Overall it was exactly what one would expect to find in a home as old and impressive as Malfoy Manor. It was also, by far, the noisiest room in the house. Because the human inhabitants of the manor rarely, if ever, made their way down to the kitchen, this was the domain of the three Malfoy elves. As younger children Blaise and Draco were in this part of the house often, either looking for food or as part of their quest to explore every room in the ancient manor. When his eyes found their way back to Draco he was unsurprised to find his friends gaze still locked firmly on the three elves. Watching the elves again he noticed that among the excited whispers was the occasional glance at the table where he and Draco sat. Now that he thought on it, he was sure that none of the elves had seemed very surprised upon seeing them tonight either, which was odd because it had been years since either boy was in this part of the house. Perhaps he should pay a bit more attention to exactly what, the three elves were up to, because he was struck with the sudden feeling that they were indeed, up to something.

As intelligent as many humans could be, most were remarkably unobservant. In fact, he was quite sure that many people were completely clueless about most of the things that went on around them on a daily basis. For example, most never took the time to notice just how well their house-elves knew them. It was not uncommon for them to know everything that was going on with their family, whether they were told about it or not, and he had a sharp feeling that these elves knew that very well what may lay ahead for the Malfoy family. Looking back to his friend, he noticed that Draco's face was now impassive; but the occasional wild flicker in his silver eyes said his thought were anything but. If it were anyone else they might have made the mistake of asking Draco if he wanted to talk about it, but Blaise knew that Draco would talk when he was ready and not a moment before. So he was content to sit and eat until Draco broke the silence.

"What do you think is going on with the house-elves?" Draco asked with his eyes locked back on the creatures at the other end of the expansive room.

"What?" of all the things he could ask, or should ask about the events earlier, and he brings up the house-elves. Blaise wasn't sure if he should laugh or throttle him.

"Look at them," Draco said, tilting his head in that direction, "they're whispering and they keep looking over here, don't you think it's odd?"

Blaise just shrugged in response because no, it didn't seem odd to him at all. The three elves obviously knew that the Master and Mistress of the manor had a spectacular fight, and they probably knew that the two of them had listened in as well. The only thing he thought odd was that the elves were being so obvious about it all… no, scratch that, house-elves were about as subtle as a mountain troll in a china shop. The look on Draco's face told him that his friend had just made up his mind on something. "Well, I'm going to ask," he said, "Dottie, come over here." _Well, _thought Blaise, _this ought to prove interesting. _

Dottie the House-elf hurried over and dipped into a low bow. She was the oldest of the three Malfoy elves, and if his memory was correct she had come to the family with the Mistress of the manor. Dottie was about as remarkable as any house-elf, with large bat like ears, a long pointed nose, and big bright blue eyes. "Young Master is needing something?"

"What are you three up to over there?" Draco asked.

The little creature wrung her hand together and looked at her feet before answering.

"We is just cleaning dishes, young Master."

"And talking," Draco supplied.

The elf continues to wring her hands as she looked back at Draco. "Oh, we is being too loud for the young Master and his friend? I is going over right now and telling Zerby and Peetry no mores talking." Dottie bowed again and turned quickly to walk away but was stopped after two steps.

"No," said Draco, "You're not being too loud, in fact you're whispering. Why are you whispering?"

Blaise had been watching the exchange with a false disinterest but he could help smirking when the elf let out a small squeak and tugged at her large ears.

"We is being quiet so we is not disturbing young Master or his friend." _Huh, _Blaise thought, _bugger if this elf isn't avoiding the question. That's not what Draco asked and she knows it. _Draco seemed to have caught on to this as well.

"And what, exactly, are you whispering about?"

Dottie was now tugging her ears so hard it looked like she was trying to wrap them all the way around her head. "It is not being important young Master; I is not wanting to bother yous about it."

"Well then, you won't mind telling me I'm sure… if it's nothing important why should it bother me?"

The elf let out a loud squeak and her hands let go of her ears and quickly flew to cover her mouth. It became obvious that persuasion was not going to bring about any answers so Draco simply demanded them.

"Dottie, I order you to tell me what you were talking about."

Dottie's hands were no longer covering her mouth, instead they we fidgeting with the bottom of the tea towel she was wearing. "I is saying to Zerby and Peetry that we should not be talking with the young Master in the room." Again that was not what Draco meant and she knew it. Blaise couldn't help but be amused at the cheeky little thing as she continued to try and avoid giving a straight answer. Draco however was not amused, and he slammed his hand down on the table causing Dottie to jump.

"That's not what I meant and you know it! Tell me what all of you were talking about, and tell me now," he demanded.

"We is talking about the young Master and his mother, Mistress Narcissa," Dottie answered somewhat reluctantly.

"What about my mother?"

"The Mistress is coming down to the kitchens to talk with the house-elves before she is going back to the study to yell at Master Lucius." This is where Draco interrupted.

"You know about my parents fight?"

"Oh yes Master Draco, we house-elves is always knowing everything that is happening with our families," she said nodding her head and Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Everything?" he asked.

"Yes Master Draco."

"What did my mother say to you and what did they start fighting about? Blaise and I only caught the last bit."

"The Mistress is being very angry at Master Lucius because the snake speaker is coming to Malfoy Manor, and Master is inviting him in…" Blaise was sure, that at right that second, he stopped breathing and he heard Draco gasp as well.

That was an interesting bit of information. Inside Blaise was reeling, but he tried to look as calm as possible on the outside. Draco did not look calm at all, so he understood that he would need to remain composed. Should his best friend get too agitated over the situation, he would need to calm him down and ease his mind. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had to concentrate very hard to keep his thoughts from becoming too overwhelming, for the first time in a very long time he found himself extremely befuddled. How could they have been so careless? The Dark Lord could have come right out to where they were flying and they hadn't even known he was in the area. This made Blaise wonder, did he make frequent visits to the manor even though he was supposed to be hiding out? Judging by Draco's reaction though, that seemed unlikely. Normally he thought of Lucius Malfoy as a very smart man, calculating, politically minded, powerful, and ambitious. He was a bit lacking in the wise decision making department perhaps; but never the less an intelligent man. This obviously fell into the poor decision category; then again, it's not as if he could have told the Dark Lord no, or asked him to leave. Not if he wanted to live to see the sunrise tomorrow anyway, though Lucius Malfoy was smart enough to realise that the Ministry could be watching, or Dumbledore, or anyone really. Showing up here was a bold move on the Dark Lord's part as his reptilian appearance, red eyes, and lack of nose made him rather recognisable. What was he planning that he was so bold as to show up here, what did Lucius have to do with it, and how did Draco factor into all of this? Those were questions that he had no way to answer at the present, so he would file them away as something to think over later.

So far the return of the Dark Lord had gone unnoticed or unrecognised by most of the magical community, and he thought it a fairly safe assumption thinking the Dark Lord wanted to keep it that way. The older Malfoy's involvement with the Dark Lord was a given to anyone with half a brain, but this changed things. If he were caught acting as a Death Eater again there would be no claiming the imperious curse to get him out of it this time. That would be the end of all political clout and respect that the Malfoy name commanded. Blaise had always taken for granted that he would be safe at Malfoy Manor, after all he'd spent half his childhood here. The Dark Lord had been here just a few hours ago while they were outside playing like foolish children. This solidified the fact in his mind that he was no longer safe here and neither was Draco. Not that his sister, whom he lived with, would even consider letting him come back after she heard this, but who was going to look out for Draco?

"The Dark Lord was here tonight? Here… inside the Manor?" Draco chocked out.

"Yes Master, when you and yous friend is out flying, he is talking with Master Lucius in the study. Then he is calling the Mistress in. As soon as he is leaving Mistress Narcissa is coming down here to talk to us elves. After she is leaving the kitchens she is going straight back to the study and telling Master Lucius off."

"What did they say in the study? What did the Dark Lord say?" he asked the elf. When no answer was forthcoming Draco snapped. "Answer him!"

"We is not knowing details Master. We house-elves is staying as far away from the snake speaker as we can." Blaise interrupted with a snort, "smart elves," he muttered.

"Peetry is only hearing a little, just three words – Azkaban, Riddle, and Lestrange. That is all Master Draco." Well at least that made some sense to Blaise; the Lestrange's were in Azkaban. The Riddle part though… well that was another bit to file away for later.

"Well," Draco asked, "what did my mother say when she came down here?"

"She is telling us that the snake man is here and that he wanted to have Master Draco. She is saying that she is not letting him have Master Draco," Dottie answer quickly, but she was back to wringing her hands and Blaise was sure that she was only telling part of the conversation. Draco had gone white as a sheet and his eyes were as wide as Blaise had ever seen them. Since Draco appeared too shaken up to continue questioning the elf Blaise decided to take over.

"What else did Mrs Malfoy have to say Dottie?" he asked, "and do you know what she meant by the Dark Lord wanting to have Draco?"

"Mistress is saying that the snake man is not taking aways her son for no army's. She is saying not now, not ever. She is also making the house-elves promise things." Dottie answered.

Alright so that bit about taking Draco away for an army made more sense, but he was going to need more details about these promises though. However, he was cut off as Draco came back to his senses and asked first.

"Promise what things?"

"She is saying, no matter what Master Lucius or anyone else is saying that we is never to obey any order that would be bringing any bad things to Master Draco."

"That makes sense, what else?" Draco interjected.

"She is also telling us the is maybe coming a time when she is saying to take the young Master far away to the safe place and not bring the young Master back."

"What safe place?" Blaise asked. So someone was going to look out for Draco, or he hoped that's what this meant.

"She is not saying yet, she is just saying she will tells us when the time is right." Dottie replied.

Blaise was watching Draco now, and he could see his friend's inner struggle as clear as if it were written on his face. It was all a lot to take in and Draco had been abnormally quiet most of the night, judging by the look in his eyes now though, that quiet was about to come to a rather abrupt end. Blaise dismissed the elf with a wave of his hand and continued to watch Draco with slight trepidation, knowing that a full on outburst was coming any minute. When Draco began to drum his fingers on the table he started his inner count down. _Meltdown mode active in 3…2…1… _

"What the hell is going on here? Apparently the Dark Lord's now popping round for afternoon tea whenever he pleases, my father just invites him into the manor like it's perfectly normal. Doesn't he consider the thought that we're being watched, if not by the Ministry then by Dumbledore? The Dark Lord is asking my parents about me and he may or may not want me for some, possibly imaginary, army. My parents are screaming at each other, like some disgusting plebeian Muggles.

I've never, in all my sodding life, heard them yell at each other. I mean, they're even throwing things and slamming doors. It seems my mother has gone all secret-bloody- agent now, extracting promises from the house-elves, and conspiring to hide me away at some undisclosed location. All we did was go flying for a few hours, Blaise, and the whole bloody world goes sodding sideways," he was waving his arms slightly in emphasis and paused for a breath before continuing.

"My parents told me all my life that the Dark Lord had the right idea. That the Muggles and the Mudbloods had their place and it was below ours. That purity and power matter above all else, that it is the highest honour to be marked as one of his chosen few, and they've also told me over and over that the Malfoy family bow to know one. Now my mother is telling my father that he's no better than a glorified serving boy… But she's right though isn't she, he falls right in line with those idiots Crabbe and Goyle, he bows at his feet, and calls him '_Lord,' the Dark Lord, My Lord_.

It's like I can't tell up from down right now, they say one thing and then turn right around and contradict it. I've always thought my mother supported the Dark Lord, telling me great things about him and his cause, but now that I think about it I guess it was my father who did most of the talking… I just always assumed that she agreed with him. She threatened him, Blaise, she told my father, her husband, that she would kill him. What the hell do you think she's up to? Because to me it sounds like she's starting to turn her back on the Dark Lord."

Blaise thought, yes, that was indeed exactly it sounded like. Since he knew Draco wasn't, and may never be ready to hear that, he would need to choose his word carefully.

"Not necessarily," he supplied.

"You heard what she said to my father, and now the house-elves. I thought she supported all of it, now though, I'm not so sure." Blaise could see the doubt swimming in Draco's eyes; he wasn't sure what he thought himself, let alone worrying about his mother's thoughts on the matter.

"Draco, supporting the Dark Lord is one thing… but sending her only son off to fight for him is another. You heard what she said; she doesn't want you to get hurt or worse, killed. What mother in her right mind wouldn't worry about that?" When Draco didn't speak, just nodded in reluctant agreement, Blaise continued.

"What about what you think… do you really think you're ready to consider pledging lifelong service to the Dark Lord? A service, I might remind you, that you know essentially nothing about." He watched Draco carefully as he answered, the only way he'd be able to tell if Draco was lying would be the slightest shift in his grey eyes.

"I don't know Blaise – I just don't know. After everything I've been raised to believe, I should be. I should be thrilled at the thought of it, but really? Hell, I'm only fifteen you know… What would he want with a Death Eater that can't even use magic outside of school? Shouldn't I have a little more time before…? The thing is I – I don't think I've got a choice. I don't think I've ever really had a choice, you know? " Draco met his eyes and Blaise say nothing but truth in his expression. They lapsed back into a thoughtful silence for a long time before Draco spoke again.

"What about you Blaise, what would you do?" he asked.

It had been a very interesting day, upsetting, confusing, enlightening, and downright terrifying, but interesting to say the least. Draco's honest reluctance brought Blaise an immense sense of relief so he answered his friend honestly.

"You know how I feel Draco, I bow to no one."


	5. What's Potter Done Now?

Hermione  
12 Grimmauld Place, London

* * *

In the week that she'd been at number 12 Grimmauld Place, Hermione Granger, had seen and experienced many peculiar things. There were rooms that were still off limits to everyone in the house for fear of what may be in them, an entire wall that was decorated with house-elf heads, an umbrella stand made from a hollowed out troll leg, a grandfather clock that shot large bolts at anyone unfortunate enough to be walking by, and a foul portrait that screamed some of the vilest thing she'd ever heard. Overall it was the most unpleasant disgusting place she'd ever been, in fact Hermione, was quite sure the Catacombs of Paris she'd visited recently were more inviting. The house had been the ancestral home of the House of Black for many generations and recently Sirius Black gave the house over to the Order of the Phoenix to be used as a headquarters. The Order of the Phoenix, as she'd learned, was an organization founded by Professor Dumbledore during the first war against Voldemort. Now that Voldemort had returned Dumbledore was reforming the order to fight the dark wizard and his followers.

After spending a fortnight with her parents traveling on the continent she'd gone to The Burrow to spend the remainder of the summer with the Weasley family. She was at The Burrow for a little over a week before they packet up and headed to this interesting abode in London. People seemed to come and go at all hours of the day and night and the Order held at least one meeting a day. Of course neither Hermione nor any of the younger Weasley's were allowed in any of the meetings. They had all been told, in no uncertain terms, that they were too young, that the Order was for adults only. Even Fred and George Weasley, who are both of age, we told they couldn't join until they were out of school. Naturally this didn't stop any of them from listening in or gathering whatever information they could about what the Order was up to.

For example; today they learned that the Order is planning on moving Harry to headquarters in about a week and that members of the order are taking turns guarding something… probably Harry, or that was the conclusion she'd come to anyway. Several hours had passed since the conclusion of the days meeting and most of the Order members had long since left headquarters, even those that stayed after for dinner. It was not wholly uncommon for a few of the members to stay late into the evening, like Remus Lupin the former Defence professor, or Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks when they weren't on duty. At the same time there were many members who left as soon as the meetings concluded. Sturgis Podmore, Dedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones, Elphias Doge and Emmeline Vance never stayed after. Alastor Moody generally left straight away, claiming he had other things to attend to, constant vigilance and all that. Professor Snape would sweep out of the room without another word; he never arrived early, never stayed late, and rarely said anything that wasn't directly connected to the agenda of the meeting. There was another woman, Hermione didn't know her name yet but she was certain she recognised her from Hogwarts, she was young and quiet, and she almost always arrived and left with Professor Snape.

It was starting to get late and the washing up finally done and everything put away. Molly Weasley had just stormed out of the kitchen and headed upstairs to investigate a series of loud bangs and crashes, convinced that Fred and George were the culprits. Remus sat at one end of the table across from Sirius and the two were completely engrossed in a game of chess. Ginny excused herself not long ago, saying she was tired and headed for bed. Ron had not been seen for over two hours after suddenly having something very important to do as soon as dinner was over and the washing needed done. So she sat at the kitchen table with a quill and parchment in hand, enjoying the relative quiet.

Every now and then Sirius or Remus would comment about their chess match and Crookshanks, who was twisting around her ankles, would purr. She had decided to write another letter to Harry, but was having a hard time settling on what to say. Judging by the letter she'd received yesterday Harry was rather annoyed with her at the moment, well he was annoyed with just about everyone at the moment. Not that she could blame him; if she were in his place she'd be furious. He'd been left alone with those awful Dursley's and Dumbledore had made her promise, along with Ron and the rest of the Weasley children, not to tell Harry anything. She couldn't understand why, but she had faith in Dumbledore, and knew he must have his reasons whatever they were. She had just put her quill to the parchment when the kitchen door burst open and a haggard looking Arthur Weasley burst in.

"The Ministry's just sent an owl to Harry, expelling him from Hogwarts!" he shouted.

Her letter was instantly forgotten as was the chess game going on at the other end of the table. Sirius had jumped to his feet immediately looking shocked, outraged and dismayed all at the same time.

"What!" he exclaimed, "what for? They can't expel him, only Dumbledore can do that."

"They said he cast a Patronus in front of a Muggle. I know they can't expel him; I contacted Dumbledore as soon as I heard. He should be there by now." He was cut off as Mrs Weasley walked back into the room.

"What's going on dear? Dumbledore should be where by now?" she asked.

"The Ministry," Sirius answered, "They're trying to expel Harry."

"WHAT?" she shrieked, "Why on earth would they do that?"

"Because they say he used a Patronus in front of a Muggle," Remus answered just as the kitchen door flew open again.

"Arthur, what's the meaning of this? Where is Dumbledore? He contacted me and told me there was an emergency, to come here at once."

"He should be at the Ministry by now Severus, they are trying to expel Harry," said Mr Weasley.

Hermione, who had so far gone unnoticed, watched Professor Snape rolled his eyes before asking, "What's Potter done now?"

Sirius stiffened and puffed out his chest as he replied. "Why do you automatically assume that Harry's done anything?"

"Well Black, it seems highly unlikely that the Ministry should suddenly decide, '_we don't like you anymore Potter, you're expelled,' _I'm sure they have a reason."

"Apparently he's cast a patronus and in front of a Muggle," whispered Mrs Weasley, "why would he do something so foolish?"

"Why indeed?" Snape remarked, "Potter's always believed himself to be above the rules…"

"Don't you dare talk about my godson like that, you know nothing about Harry!" Sirius snapped.

"Oh, I know much more about him than you do, Black. I spent years observing him while you were wasting away in Azkaban and running from the law like the mongrel that you are," Snape spat back, his voice laced with venom. "He has been known to show off…"

Sirius looked ready to fly across the table and attack him, and Snape looked like he hoped Sirius would do it. She watched, Sirius' face contorted with rage and Snape's wand hand twitched, slightly worried that this could turn into an all-out brawl very rapidly. Remus seemed to share her worry because he quickly stepped next to Sirius, putting his hand on the other man's arm.

"Harry may show off every once in a while, but let's be fair, what teenaged boy doesn't. We need to focus on the important thing here, like why he cast the charm, or why the Ministry was so quick to try and expel him, and what we are going to do if, gods forbid, Dumbledore can't set this right. That's why he called you here Severus. Not so you two could go at each other like angry school children. That goes for you too Sirius."

"Well what should we do?" asked Mr Weasley, "Should we go get Harry now?"

"No, Dumbledore said to do nothing yet," answered Snape, "that he would contact us here as soon as he was finished with the Ministry."

"Well there's a couple of things I'd like to know, first who was supposed to be watching Harry tonight, and second why in the world would they let him use any magic. We all know how important it is that he takes no risks and doesn't draw any attention from the Ministry," said Mrs Weasley.

"Mundungus Fletcher, Miss Farley and Mrs Figg were on duty tonight," replied Mr Weasley. Upon hearing this Professor Snape let out a dejected sigh and all attention turned to him.

"What is it Severus?" Mrs Weasley asked.

"As much as I am loath to admit, Potter _may have_ had good reason for his rule breaking this time…" he looked as if the words were choking him and the last thing he wanted to do was continue. "It is entirely possible that he had actual need to cast the Patronus charm. Fletcher is known to be unreliable at the best of times it is not inconceivable that he was not where he should have been tonight. If Miss Farley was left alone watching Potter and the need to use that particular spell arose… it is not unlikely that she may have needed Potter's help. Not that I see what could have happened in the middle of a Muggle neighbourhood that would require a Patronus, but Miss Farley is not yet completely proficient with that spell."

Hermione figured that Miss Farley must be the young woman that she'd seen coming and going with Snape over the last week as she was the only woman in the Order whose name she hadn't known. _Well that's one mystery solved, _she thought. Perhaps if she went unnoticed a little longer she could learn a few other things.

"You mean that she can't cast a Patronus?" asked Remus, "I thought Dumbledore said she was a genius with charms."

"That is correct Lupin; this is the only charm I've known her to struggle with. Keep in mind that they do not teach it at Hogwarts and it is not a commonly used spell. I've been working with her for several weeks, she very nearly has it but it is still rather weak. Do not however, let this cause doubts about her ability as a witch. I know you will barely remember her from Hogwarts Lupin, as you only taught there during her final year. I however, remember quite clearly her abilities and intelligence, which far exceed most of her peers, not unlike what Miss Granger has displayed. Although she lacks Miss Granger's compulsion to perpetually show off, and yes Miss Granger I well aware you are still standing there eavesdropping."

So much for continuing to go unnoticed as she'd hoped, as soon as Snape said that every eye in the room was focused on her. The room became instantly silent as if they were all overly worried about saying another word with her still there. She began to gather her quill, ink and parchment before Mrs Weasley even spoke.

"Hermione dear, why didn't you tell us you were here?" she asked not unkindly.

"Molly, she's not about to betray herself a perfectly good opportunity to listen in," interjected Snape, and Hermione couldn't help internally agreeing with him.

"It's late dear," said Mrs Weasley, "off to bed with you now, and not a word of this to the others dear." She gently took Hermione by the shoulders and guided her in the direction of the door.

"Of course, Mrs Weasley," she answered on her way out of the kitchen. As soon as the door closed behind her she heard them all start talking at once.

She bypassed the room she was sharing with Ginny, instead going up to the second floor room that Ron was staying in. She knocked with as much fervour as she could without drawing any attention from the adults in the basement. She had to knock three times before the door opened to reveal a dishevelled looking Ron with his hair sticking out every which way and his eyes half shut.

"Hermmmione… s'matter? I'm trynna sleep," he mumbled.

"Wake up Ron, this is important! Go get Fred and George; I'm going to get Ginny. We'll meet back here and I'll explain everything,"

* * *

Less than a minute later they were all gathered in Ron's room. The four red heads with her were still half asleep and none too pleased with her for the abrupt awakening.

"This better be important Hermione," started Fred, "I was having the best dream, Angelina and I…" she interrupted quickly, that story was going places she had no desire to visit.

"I think Harry's been attacked by Dementors," she said with no preamble.

"WHAT?" they all shouted at the same time.

"Shhh… your mum will hear. I told her that I wouldn't say anything to you. If she catches us she's sure to have a fit," she hissed, worried that someone may have already heard.

"Tell us everything," insisted George.

She told them everything she'd overheard in the kitchen, relaying the conversation almost word for word. When she was finished Ron was the first to speak and he expressed some doubt.

"So that's why you think he was attacked by Dementors?" he asked.

"Of course Ron, why else would Harry cast a Patronus? Even Snape seemed to think it was a real possibility," she snapped back. The others in the room agreed with her.

"Why else would he use magic? Especially _that spell_ Ron. Harry knows he can't use magic outside of Hogwarts," Ginny interjected.

"What I'd really like to know is why he was attacked by Dementors. We need to hear what else is going on in the kitchen," supplied George.

"Yeah," exclaimed Fred "why did Snape have to be such a git and point you out when he did?"

"Well, we need to listen in on what they are talking about that's for sure," she said with a pointed look at the twins. But they just kept staring at her, like they were waiting for her to continue. "Oh honestly!" she huffed throwing her hands in the air. "Go get one of your Extendable Ears. Hopefully we haven't missed too much already."


	6. Godric's Wilted Brains

Harry  
Little Whinging Surrey

* * *

The walk back to Number 4 had been an informative one. He'd learned that the young witch with him was named Gemma Farley, that she'd graduated Hogwarts his third year, and that she had a younger brother his age still attending Hogwarts. He'd also learned that she along with Mrs Figg was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, a group formed and headed by Dumbledore, with the sole purpose of fighting Voldemort and his followers. Apparently members of the Order had been taking turns watching him all summer, worried that something, like what happened tonight, might transpire. She'd told him that the Ministry and the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge or 'that incompetent gormless plonker' as she called him, were refusing to acknowledge Voldemort's return. They were doing their best to make Dumbledore look completely barmy and labelling him as a mentally unstable attention-seeker. That bit was just thrilling to hear. He also found out that the crack of apparition he'd heard earlier had been one Mundungus Fletcher, also a member of the Order of the Phoenix who'd, left his shift hours too early, something to do with stolen cauldrons… he hadn't really heard. What he did hear was that Mundungus is apparently a 'dodgy cogder who cocks-up everything' and that when she got her hands on him she had a list of rather creative charms she was going to test out on his bullocks. As a fellow member of the male species he almost felt bad for this Mundungus bloke, almost but not really.

They'd gone over what they were going to tell the Ministry, she told him that if things got tricky she would handle it and he was not to contradict her no matter what she might say. He wasn't sure he liked that well at all, but after what she told him about the Ministry calling mentally unstable, he thought it best to agree. For his part Harry, filled her in as best he could on his life with the Dursley's, and what to expect once they reached Number 4. He got the feeling that she didn't fully believe him or that she thought he was exaggerating, but she would find out all too soon just how foul his relatives really were.

He hadn't even had time to close the front door when his aunt spotted Dudley, who was still immobilised and floating, and began shrieking in a manner that would make a banshee proud.

"What have you done?" she screamed at him. "What did you do to him?"

Gemma didn't even seem to notice the yelling as she levitated Dudley onto the sofa in the lounge before removing the last two enchantments she'd placed on him. Harry was still standing in the hall where his aunt had frozen momentarily in shock. She stared at Dudley, who still looked slightly deranged, and let out another ear-piercing scream before rushing to her sons side.

"Vernon!" she called, "Vernon, get down here. They've done something to Dudley."

She was on her knees now, in front of the sofa clinging to Dudley. Grabbing his face, then his shoulders and finally hugging him, before she started the whole cycle over again.

His uncle Vernon came barrelling down the stairs with more agility than someone his size should possess. He pushed Harry aside as he lumbered to his wife's side.

"What is it Petunia? Has that boy done something awful again?" Vernon asked.

Harry caught Gemma's eyes across the room, wondering why his aunt and uncle hadn't noticed her yet. When her eyebrows tweaked up and she mouthed '_That boy' _at him, he just raised his own eyebrows in response; he'd told her they were like this. He wasn't quite sure what set it off, but suddenly his uncle rounded on him violently grabbing his arms and holding so tight it was sure to bruise.

"What did you do boy?" Vernon snapped, "You've done something to him, used your freakishness on him haven't you? I knew it! I knew you'd snap one day, mental just like the rest of your lot…"

"I haven't done anything to him,'' he spat back.

"OH YES YOU HAVE!" Vernon thundered. "How else would he get like this? You've finally driven him loopy. YOU WILL FIX THIS! YOU WILL FIX HIM RIGHT NOW!" By the end of the tirade Vernon had begun to shake him forcefully. He could still hear his aunt wailing in the background and Dudley's grunting was getting louder as if he was becoming agitated. Harry was getting ready to shout back when Gemma spoke up.

"Your nephew is telling the truth Mr Dursley, he is in no way responsible for the condition your son is in," she said carefully and he was very grateful for her timing because his uncle stopped shaking him and let go of his arms immediately.

"And just who are you?" Vernon asked rudely. "Are you one of them as well?"

He was all puffed up, pushing his chest out, and his face was the colour of a beet. Harry knew that this was his uncles intimidating posture, but it didn't seem to affect Gemma at all.

"I'm sorry, one of what?" she asked. Her voice was calm and quiet, with the same tone it had earlier when Dudley called her a freak. It looked to him like she was waiting for his uncle to say something, and he was very certain his uncle would not like the response he got if he called Gemma a freak. However, he was just as certain that he would like Gemma's reaction very much.

"One of his lot," Vernon said pointing at him.

"I'm afraid, Mr Dursley, I haven't the slightest idea what you mean by his lot," she replied. "I am however, a witch if that's what you are alluding to," she finished with a smirk.

His uncle's reply was cut off when his Aunt Petunia's incessant wailing got suddenly louder. Dudley was just beginning to find his voice again although the only thing he was saying sounded a lot like 'mumma… mumma… mumma.' Fat lot of sense that made, but his attention was drawn away when a great grey owl came flying through the open window. It swooped across the room, dropped a single letter at his feet, and promptly left. As he bent to pick up the owl his aunt seemed to get her wits back.

"What did you do to my son?" she asked looking at Gemma. "You brought him into the house floating in the air."

"I didn't do anything to your son. He was unable to walk, so I assisted him in getting home." She didn't elaborate any further; instead she looked right at him. "Who's the letter from Potter?"

"The Ministry," he answered staring at the parchment in his had like it was about to jump up and bite him at any moment.

"Well… read it!" she barked at him.

"Right…" he said, but just as he opened the wax seal his uncle snatched the letter from his hand and began to read it out loud.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We have received intelligence that, twenty two minutes ago, at thirty-five minutes past eight this evening, you performed the Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle._

_You have already received an official warning for an offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy. As this is not your first violation we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 A.M. on August 12__th_

_This is a severe breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and it has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand._

_._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

"Expelled! You've been expelled." Vernon was so giddy that he was practically dancing. "You said you didn't do anything to Dudley, well it says right here that you've done _it. _Get out of that one boy! I've got you now."

"NO! I'VE TOLD YOU, I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO DUDLEY!" he knew that he probably shouldn't be yelling but at this point he couldn't help it. He was panicking, they'd expelled him and they were going to snap his wand. He had to get out of there, before the Ministry officials came to snap his wand, because they couldn't snap his wand if they couldn't find it.

"LIAR!" Vernon bellowed, "It says right here that you used this Patronus thing."

But he wasn't listening; he needed to get his trunk, his broom, and Hedwig and leave.

He started towards the door but he was grabbed roughly and thrown to the floor.

"Where do you think you're going boy?" his uncle roared.

"I'm leaving," he said scrambling to his feet and trying to push past his uncle.

"Oh no you're not!" Vernon raged grabbing him and slamming him into a wall.

"Vernon!" Petunia yelled. When her husband looked at her she shifted her eyes and he followed her gaze to the other woman in the room. Gemma's eyes were narrowed to slits, her brow was creased, and her wand was out pointed right at Vernon's chest. Harry watched as she took a deep breath and her nostrils flared.

"I would suggest, Mr Dursley," she seethed, "That you not put your hands on your nephew again." But Vernon was the only one in the room that failed to notice her barely concealed anger.

"Don't you point that thing at me! I'm not stupid; I know you can't use it here. I know the rules."

Gemma walked forward until her wand was touching his uncle's chest. "I am a fully trained adult witch Mr Dursley, and those rules do not apply to me. I can use magic any time I see fit, and I will not hesitate to use magic on you. So kindly sit down and shut your vile mouth." Gemma hissed.

Vernon looked like he might argue further but Petunia, who was clearly frightened spoke up from the sofa. "Vernon, please sit down."

"Will someone please tell me what is wrong with my son?" she asked after Vernon sat down.

He didn't have time for this; he needed to be long gone before anyone from the Ministry showed up.

"Potter, tell them what happened," said Gemma.

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "It's like I said, I didn't do anything to Dudley, and neither did she. We were walking back from the play park and we were attacked by Dementors."

"What the ruddy hell are Dementors?" his uncle interrupted.

"They guard Azkaban, the wizarding prison," his aunt Petunia whispered.

He exchanged a look of shock with Gemma before looking back to his aunt.

"You know what Dementors are?" he asked.

"Yes, I heard that awful boy telling her about them once."

"You mean my father?"

"No not your father, a boy from the neighbourhood. His name was…"

Just then another owl sored through the window and dropped a letter on top of his head and swooped back out. He just stuffed the letter in his pocket, probably just a reminder that his wand was about to be snapped.

"So these demented thingies are real then? What do they do?" Vernon asked but Gemma answered before he could.

"They are very real. They are among the foulest creatures that inhabit the earth. They infest the filthiest places, they revel in despair, and they will drain every bit of peace, happiness, and hope out of the anything around them... Around a Dementor every good feeling and happy memory you've ever had will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough kiss you and you will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."

"Kiss you?" Vernon asked with a snort.

"That's when they suck a person's soul out of their mouth," he supplied, but perhaps he should have left that bit out. As soon as he said it his aunt burst into tears and started screaming.

"Oh my poor Dudders, what have they done to you? Oh god!" she wailed.

"So these dementa-whatsits sucked out his soul?" his uncle asked looking like he was ready to pounce.

"NO!" he snapped, "that's what the Patronus was for, it's the only thing that stops them. Dudley's still got his soul." His uncle heard but his aunt was too busy sobbing.

"Oh my poor Diddykins, my baby… My poor Dudley." She just kept getting louder and louder until Gemma finally snapped.

"Oh for the love of… GODRIC'S WILTED BRAINS! Someone shut that woman up!" she shouted.

"Now you see here…" Vernon started to say but he stopped abruptly when she pointed her wand at him again.

Harry watched as she walked up to the sofa and bent her knees so that she was eye to eye with his crying aunt. "Mrs Dursley," she said very gently several times until she finally had the other woman's attention. "Your son hasn't been kissed, he just in a bit of shock. Do you have any chocolate in the house?"

"Chocolate?" his aunt answered looking confused.

"Yes, chocolate. It will help I promise. Go find some and have him eat it."

* * *

Dudley was successfully eating the chocolate and beginning to look a little more like himself when Vernon spoke again. "Where's this prison those things guard?" he asked.

"In the middle of the North Sea, why?" Gemma answered.

"What were they doing in Surrey then?"

"I don't know," said Harry, "the only thing I can think is that someone sent them after me."

"I still don't know if I buy it," said his uncle.

"He's telling the truth dad," said Dudley finally regaining the ability to speak, "it was those things. I couldn't see them but I could feel them it felt like… like…"

"You'd never be happy again," finished Harry and Gemma at the same time.

"Yeah," said Dudley nodding his head and shuddering.

"So who would send those things after you?" his aunt asked.

"Voldemort," was his immediate response. It was very strange saying that and not having everyone in the room flinch. The only one who reacted was Gemma, he saw her jaw clinch and she stiffened slightly.

"Who?" his uncle asked.

"Lord Voldemort!" he barked causing Gemma to jump.

"Potter…" Gemma cautioned but he just looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

"Wasn't he the one that?" he aunt asked.

"That killed my parents? Yeah."

"I thought that you got rid of him that night."

"Well he's found a way to come back," he said watching is uncle closely. The one squeaky wheel in Vernon's head seemed to be turning at maximum speed.

"So this Volde-warts guy…" hi uncle started to say.

"VOLDEMORT!" he interrupted shouting, "HIS NAME IS VOLDEMORT!" And this seemed to be the last straw for Gemma.

"DON'T SAY HIS NAME! Merlin's pants Potter, call him something else – anything else, but please stop saying that wretched name!" she yelled.

"So let me get this straight," said his uncle, "the truly evil bloke that killed your parents has come back to life and he's after you."

"That's the basics of it yeah." He replied.

"Right then," his uncle said as he stood and pointed at the front door. "Get out."

"What?" he and Gemma asked at the same time.

"You heard me - OUT! Get out of my house," Vernon bellowed so loudly that even Petunia and Dudley jumped. "GET OUT! OUT! I should've done this years ago, I knew from the start that we should have shipped you off to some orphanage! Owls flying in and out at all hours, exploding puddings, the lounge destroyed by those nutters last year, that brute that gave Dudley a tail, you blowing up Marge and that blasted flying car - I WANT YOU OUT OF MY HOUSE! NOW! I've had it! I won't have you endangering my wife and son, you're not staying here any longer if some murderer is after you, you're not bringing that down on us."

As soon as his uncle finished talking he felt the air around him shift. It wasn't an ominous shift, the way it felt just before the Dementors attack, it was just different like something had changed. When he looked at Gemma her brow was frowned again and he wondered if she'd noticed it too.

"Go get your things Potter," she said suddenly. "Make sure to pack everything you want to bring, we won't be coming back." When he stood rooted to the spot she snapped at him, "NOW! And be quick about it."

He ran from the room and took the stairs two at a time rushing to his bed room. He took Hedwig out of her cage and told her to find Ron and wait with him and began to pack the rest of his things. It took him less than five minutes to pack and drag everything he was taking back to the sitting room. When he entered the room she told him to wait for her with his things in the back garden. As he was walking out the door he paused to hear her parting words to the Dursley's.

"You are the only family he has, the only family he's got left and _this_ is how you have treated him. I have met some vile people in my life Mr Dursley, and you are among the worst. Mrs Dursley, if this is how you treat your family, your own blood, then you are surely one of them most disgusting woman I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. He saved your son's life tonight; your son who I suspect has never even shown him a shred of kindness. Yet without a second thought he saved his miserable life, at a great risk to his own future I might add, and yet you don't even send so much as a thank you his way. You should be ashamed of yourselves. I hope you understand what you've done, the enchantments that protected your home that protected_ you_, are no longer in place. Those people that are after him will come after you, now that you are no longer safe and you have no one to blame but yourselves. There is one thing I would like you both to remember, you reap what you sow…"

When she reached his side in the garden she silently shrunk Hedwigs cage and his trunk, stuck them in her pocket, took hold of his arm, and with a slight 'POP' they were gone.

* * *

They appeared a moment later in a small garden that he recognised. She quickly let go of his arm, and started walking to a door.

"Isn't this Mrs Figg's house? Why are we at Mrs Figg's house? Are you going to leave me here?" he asked.

She looked over her shoulder at him before raising her hand to knock on the door. "Of course not, I am here to enquire about a kitten remember? If that was my whole reason for being in the area tonight I ought to end up with one don't you think?"

"Do you even actually want a cat?"

"No I don't, not at all actually. I'll hand it off to my brother, he can keep it," she replied just as the door swung open.

"Oh there you are dear, came to get that kitten then?" Mrs Figg asked stepping aside to let her in, noticing Harry standing in the background. "Hello Harry, I didn't see you there."

Gemma stepped inside the house and gestured for him to follow her, it smelled like cabbage just as he remembered. "Potter received notice that the Ministry intends to expel him form Hogwarts. Have you any word from Dumbledore or the Order?" she asked Mrs Figg.

"An owl came just a couple of minutes ago. Dumbledore is at the Ministry now trying to fix this mess," Mrs Figg answered looking at him. "Why is Harry with you, dear? I thought he was to stay at his relative's house."

"He won't be going back to that house," she said firmly.

"Why ever not? Dumbledore won't like this one bit," Mrs Figg replied.

"No I don't suppose he will. There's nothing he can do about it now though. Potter won't be going back for a number of reasons. To begin with_ those people _are the absolute worst sort of Muggles. That swine of a man accosted Potter more than once in my presence, if he is willing to use brute force and violence in front of a stranger what will he resort to when no one is around to see? Most importantly they have kicked Potter out. Or I should say that fat lout has kicked him out."

"Well that settles that I suppose. I agree with you and I did tell Dumbledore that they really were awful," Mrs Figg said with a determined nod. "Now come along the kittens are in the sitting room."

* * *

They were once again in the garden and she was preparing to apparate them to their next and hopefully final destination of the night. The kitten, a tiny thing with amber coloured eyes and patchwork fur, would complicate things slightly. The little thing had taken a liking to him and was perched on his shoulder purring, but Gemma said she wasn't entirely sure about apparating with an animal as she'd never done it before. He watched as conjured a small animal carrier.

"We need to put her in here. I am not sure how apparating will affect her. And the last thing I need to deal with right now is a splinched cat," she said.

"Oh no, I'm not doing it," he replied shaking his head vigorously. "Animals hate those things. She likes me right now and if I put her in there she'll hate me."

"Fine, give her to me," she uttered with a roll of her eyes.

It took a bit of struggling, some very threatening hissing, and more than a few scratches, but Baset, as she'd been named, was now yowling in displeasure from the safety of the carrier. Gingerly taking hold of the handle and grasping his arm she apparated them away with a small pop.

They landed in an open area, it was dark but he could see rolling hills in every direction he looked, the ground was covered in grass and large patches of a shrub that came about half way to his knees. He squinted his eyes and bent his neck to look a bit closer, heather, it was heather. With a second look he discovered that all of the hills were covered in large patches of heather. Without saying a word she started walking towards a large stone wall in the distance.

"Where are we?" he asked as he caught up.

"North Yorkshire, more specifically on the North York Moors not far from the Muggle village of Robin Hood's Bay," she smiled and pointed past the wrought iron gates in the stone wall to a very large house that must be several hundred years old. "This is Stonewick, my home."

"Is this really your house? It's practically a castle." he asked incredulously. "I – I uh… what I mean is you look awfully young to have a place like this," he asked stumbling over his words. The house did indeed resemble a castle, of some sort. It was made completely of stone as far as he could see; it had at least two dozen chimneys, and what looked like three towers. True there were no battlements, and there definitely wasn't a mote, but it had to be the oldest house he'd ever seen.

She raised one eyebrow and smirked at him shaking her head. "Gryffindor's…" she said laughing. "Straight to the point as always… yes, it is really my house Potter, and it's not a castle, just a very large very old home. It dates back to the fifteenth century. This house belonged to my father; it has been in his family for many generations. It's actually not wholly uncommon for older magical families to own large properties like this, when your ancestors have lived in the same place for over a thousand years each with an expected life span of over a hundred years it's not overly difficult to accumulate some wealth. This isn't much tough, compared to some of the others, my mother lives in a palace in Suffolk, an actual palace, I'm not exaggerating, and it makes Stonewick seem paltry in comparison. The Malfoy family home, Malfoy Manor is huge, much larger than this, but the Malfoy's are probably the richest family in the country. The Black family used to own a number of properties before their line started to die off, the Longbottom family own a spectacular place in Cornwall. The Prince family used to have a magnificent place in Northumberland, before their line died out without an heir. Your family, the Potter side that is, comes from Wales if memory serves. Country homes are very popular among the older families because of the amount of privacy they afford. If you're a good distance from your nearest neighbour there's a much lower chance that they will see something unusual."

"Oh… but what about the Weasley's they're purebloods?"

"Pureblood doesn't equal rich Potter. I believe that at one time the Weasley line was rather well off, but it's always been a large family. They have seven children now which is unusual even among magical families in modern times, but there was a time in history where it was not that unheard of. You see, when a family has a reasonable amount of wealth that they then distribute among their numerous heirs, and then they repeat that with the next generation of heirs… and so on, you get to a point where there is not much left. That's the Weasley family," she said with a shrug and continued. "It's gone that way with many families, the Parkinsons, they still have a nice home but they don't live in the grandeur they previously enjoyed. The Greengrass family has been able to rebuild some of the wealth lost over the years. In reality there are only a handful of very wealthy families left, a common misconception though, many people assume that old blood equates to wealth. I suppose I have a rather unusual opinion about it all, maybe money doesn't really matter much to me because I will always have more than enough, but I don't see it as all important. Mr Weasley may not make a lot of money, but his family is happy and provided for. Could he make more money doing something else? Of course, but he has a job that interests him, and he does something he truly enjoys. That is infinitely more important that money."

"Money can't buy happiness," he replied, "Muggles say that all the time. I always thought it was a rubbish saying. I mean, anyone who says that has never had to wear second hand clothes or be taunted for being poor. Ron's always embarrassed about his family's lack of money. You should have seen his dress robes last year they were awful. Don't tell him I said that though."

"Don't mistake what I am saying Potter, I know that money makes some things easier, and without a doubt it will buy nicer things. Do nicer things really make a difference though, when you don't have a mother and father that love you? When you haven't got any real friends? You can be just as miserable surrounded by expensive things as you can surrounded by cheap things."

He didn't bother replying, instead he decided to nod. She made a very good point. After growing up with the Dursley's he would probably trade every last gallion he had for a real family.

As they approached the gates she told him that they needed to be touching or her wards wouldn't let him through. He offered her his arm as the gates opened and they walked through with no problem.

"What would happen to someone if they tried to walk through without the wards admitting them?" he asked curiously.

"They'd be sucked in and spit back out somewhere else," she answered.

"That's it? Couldn't they just come right back and try again?"

"Sure, after they made their way back from the South American jungle," she replied with a devilish smirk.

"That's where they get spit back out?" he asked incredulous and she nodded still smirking. "That's brilliant!"

"My Grandmother thought of it, she was really good with wards. I've been trying to find a way to tweak them, so they'll take the trespassers wand as well. So far I haven't had any luck though."

Once they were inside main entry way they were quickly greeted by a loud crack signalled the arrival of a house-elf.

"Mistress Gemma," the little creature said with a sweeping bow, it reminded him of Dobby somewhat, well in appearance anyway. The same ears and nose, even the bright green eyes, but this house-elf did not have Dobby's nervous demeanour. "Young Master is not yet home and it is being very late."

"Oh how you do love tattling on him, don't you Cricket? What time is it anyway? I'm afraid I've lost track."

"It is being five minutes after ten Mistress that is why Cricket is saying something. Young Master is very late," the elf answered and noticed they were not alone. "OH! Mistress is having a guest. Where is Crickets manners going? Is you wanting tea for your guest Mistress? Cricket has fresh biscuits in the kitchen that he is just finished baking."

"Tea and biscuits sounds lovely Cricket. We will be in my sitting room upstairs, bring it up there. Let me know when my wayward brother arrives home, actually…" she said shaking her head. "You know what house he's at do you not?"

"Oh course Mistress he is being at…"

She cut the little elf off. "Have Shammer pop by and make sure he's alright. Tell him not to say anything, just ask the other elves if everything is okay and then let me know as soon as the Young Master arrives home."

"Yes Mistress," he replied with another bow then there was a loud crack and he was gone.

"This way Potter, there is much we need to discuss."

After making their way through the large house, two staircases, three long hallways and two left turns later, they were seated in a large elegant sitting room sipping tea with a plate of biscuits on the table between them. He noticed the décor was fancy, if not a little old fashioned. Traditional English and French antiques by the look of the furniture he'd seen. The sitting room was done in shades of blue with light yellow mixed in, with lots of stripes and floral patterns. Over all it was very girly, like something his aunt ooh'd and ahh'd over in those home décor magazines she read. He could see a connected bedroom through an open set of doors and assumed that it Gemma's, since she'd called this _her_ sitting room.

Baset had fallen asleep in her carrier and was finally quiet, which was a good thing because Gemma said she was not inclined to let the kitten loose to wander about her rooms. Cricket popped in briefly to tell her that everything was fine with her brother and asked if they needed anything more with their tea. Once that was settled she turned her attention to him.

"Go ahead Potter," she prompted, "I know you have questions."

"Why did you bring me hear? Not that it's not a brilliant house, but can't you just take me to The Burrow, the Weasley's house?"

"The Weasley's are not at The Burrow right now."

"Well, do you know where they're staying can't you just take me there?"

"No I can't, I know where they are. In fact I saw them just yesterday, your friend Miss Granger is with them as well. But their current location is protected by the Fidelius Charm and I am not the secret keeper Dumbledore is, and he is most likely still at the Ministry."

"But shouldn't I at least write and tell someone where I am?"

"I will contact someone from the Order soon and let them know then we will… Oh the second letter! Do you still have it? You never read it," she said and he remembered the letter that he stuffed in his pocket while they were still at the Dursley's house.

"Oh I completely forgot about that one," he replied pulling it out ad reading it quickly. "It's from Mr Weasley, telling me Dumbledore is at the Ministry trying to sort things out and not to – oh no! He said not to leave the Dursley's house under any circumstances."

"Well circumstances change don't they? Your foul uncle chucked you out didn't he? The wards fell, I felt them fall, and I know you did as well. I couldn't just leave you there could I?"

"Yeah, I felt something happening. You're sure it was the wards?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. As soon as your uncle kicked you out the wards fell. The wards would only stay in place for as long as you called that vile place home. Which brings me to another thing; did they always treat you like that? And did you ever tell anyone?"

They were interrupted by a loud crack and Cricket was standing before them again.

"Young Master is home Mistress, and he is coming this way," he said before he left with another loud crack.

"Potter where is your invisibility cloak?" she asked quickly.

"In my trunk," he replied getting to his feet and heading in that direction.

She stood and vanished his tea cup quickly so it would look like she was alone.

"What is that? And why is it on my trunk?" he asked startled.

"Buuurrrrrrpp." Was the answer he received from the yellow ball of fur perched on the top of his trunk as she approached him chuckling.

"He is a Puffskein," she answered picking the Puffskein up and petting its fur. "His name is Churchill and I have another, Clementine, she's around here somewhere. They're really quite sweet."

He didn't have time to say anything else because there was a loud knock at the door. "Gem, are you still up? I need to talk to you."

She quickly shrunk his trunk again and put it in her pocket then guided him to a low backed chair sat him down and threw his invisibility cloak over him, putting a finger to her lips signalling for him to remain quiet. She set Churchill, the Puffskein, down and walked to the door.

"You are over an hour late," she said pulling the door open.


	7. A Lengthy Endeavour

Severus  
Grimmauld Place London.

* * *

He really hated being here; he hated this house, so dreary and baleful that it made his own hovel seem welcoming. He hated sitting here waiting amongst the other order members, with their judging eyes and suspicious glances. It didn't matter what he did, some of them would never trust him, but in truth that was something he cared very little about. He hated waiting; it was just like Dumbledore to tell him there was an emergency and have him rush over here, just to be left waiting for the old man to show up. He hated the fact that he'd had to admit Potter may not have been in the wrong tonight, those words tasted as sweet as vomit rolling off his tongue. Most of all he hated Black, with his perpetual smug look and his typical arrogant demeanour. His hatred for Black was no secret as it had existed for over half of his life, and it was not like to change anytime soon. Over the years he'd listened to many reproves about letting go of school boy grudges, but that was useless twaddle that fell on deaf ears. It had ceased being a mere grudge and school boy misdeeds on that night in the Whomping Willow, when Black's actions nearly resulted in his death. Something that, twenty years later, Black had never apologised or even taken responsibility for.

Not long ago he'd taken his seat at the far end of the long kitchen table realising that the wait for Dumbledore was going to be a long one. The amount of patients he possessed was already thin and sitting idle with this group did nothing to improve upon it. Arthur Weasley was incessantly drumming his fingers on the table top, Lupin kept shifting in his seat, and Black had given up on sitting in favour of pacing back and forth. The only person not annoying him at the moment was Molly Weasley, who was running franticly about the kitchen and baking something at the moment. Although he could see no possible use for any sort of baked goods at this time of night, he understood this was her attempt at keeping her mind off the matter at hand. A bit odd as far as coping mechanisms go, but to each their own he supposed, at least she wasn't tapping or pacing.

He drew his eyes away from the rest of the people in the room and back to the bottom edge of the door and sure enough the tell-tale bit of flesh coloured string was still there protruding slightly into the room. He'd noticed them appear and disappear at the start and finish of every Order meeting so far. Doubtless they were some sort of listening device, the handy work Weasley twins he'd guess. Those two came up with some of the most ridiculous yet ingenious things, not that he'd ever admit that out loud. He could probably write a book about the countless things he'd confiscated from them over the years, and although most were frivolous joke items their level of creative thinking and ingenuity had impressed him on several occasions. Again, not something he'd ever admit to. He found himself thinking that whoever was listening in must be severely disappointed, not one in the kitchen had said a word for over twenty minutes. None the less, they were obviously dedicated to finding out what was being said. More than once he'd deliberated the idea of letting the presences of the eavesdropping string slip to the others, deciding instead to keep it to himself. Miss Farley had noticed as well and she mentioned it to him after a meeting a few days prior. She'd indicated that she had no intention on telling anyone else and that she was apt to let them continue listening in. Because as she put it; '_this particular group of Gryffindor's are prone to meddling and if they are going to meddle anyway, it's best that they are well informed.' _As much as he wanted to disagree he had to concede that she had a fair point as he had been hesitant about keeping everything from them for just that reason. And right now he was convinced that as soon as Miss Granger had been ushered out of the kitchen she'd run to wake the four other teenagers in the house, and they were all gathered somewhere, listening to nothing, at the other end of that string. Much to his displeasure though, that silence was about to end.

"What is taking Dumbledore so long?" questioned Black as he abruptly stopped pacing.

"Black, the Headmaster is attempting to talk some sense into the Minister. Surely even you can understand that it is bound to be a lengthy endeavour," he sneered.

"Severus is right, with everything that Fudge has been saying about Dumbledore, he's not going to be easily persuaded to listen to him," Lupin added.

"But Harry's been attacked by Dementors and we're all just sitting around doing nothing," said Black.

"Sirius, we don't know that he's been attacked, that's just speculation on our parts," Arthur interjected.

"You heard what Snape said Arthur, and if it wasn't Dementors why would Harry pick that spell out of all the spells he knows?"

"That is true Black," he intoned, "but Arthur is right, at this point we're just speculating. It's decent speculation on our parts, that is true, but still speculation."

"Does You-Know-Who have control of the Dementors Severus?" Molly asked from the other side of the kitchen.

"Not yet as far as I know, but he has not called me in several days so that could have changed. However, at the last meeting the Dark Lord indicated that Dementors are not a high priority for the time being and that he has no plans for them in the near future. He can make no use of them at this time as he would prefer the Ministry continue to deny his existence, something that is not likely to continue if he takes the Dementors from their control," he said and no one else spoke he continued. "I do not believe this was the Dark Lord's doing."

"Why not?" probed Black.

"For several reasons, first as I said he has no plans for the Dementors at this time, second it seems far too subtle… in case it escaped your notice, the Dark Lord has a bit of a flair for the dramatic, and lastly it seems far too convenient."

"What do you mean?" interrupted Lupin.

"Well, for the last month the Ministry has been working tirelessly to discredit Potter along with Dumbledore. Then he is attacked by Dementors, something he will have hard time proving, and as a result they have him on charges of using magic outside of school. When all is said and done he will have no proof other than his word, which they are not inclined to believe, and they will have the chance to tell the world that he really is an attention seeking liar," he answered.

"That's a fair point, I'll give you that Snape," started Black as he resumed his pacing. "But what I'd really like to know is why the person guarding Harry couldn't cast a proper Patronus herself."

"We've already been over this Black..."

"Yes, yes I know," said Black waving off his comment. "She's a genius with charms, very bright and a highly skilled witch. Blah – blah – blah, but she couldn't use the one charm she really needed could she?"

"She has been working diligently on mastering that particular spell, and the need for it was not seen as critical at this point. Of the innumerable things that could be seen as a threat to Potter, Dementors were not among the list considered probable," he countered.

"No considered probable by whom? Surely, not you? That's laughable, you couldn't care less what happens to Harry," Black retorted.

"By the Headmaster you idiot!" he snapped. "And I have done more to look out for that ungrateful boy in the last four years than you ever have, you insipid mongrel. As far as I am concerned this conversation is at its end. If you think I am going to sit here and argue with you, your solitary time on the run has further addled your already paltry brain."

"You listen to me Snivellus, you have no right…" Black started to report, but he was out of his chair and half way to the door before the other man could finish. He'd just felt the tell-tale burning sensation in his left arm.

"Lupin, Arthur," he called as he was walking. "Tell Dumbledore that I have been summoned, I will make my report to him first thing in the morning."

* * *

He apparated to the Dark Lord's side as soon as he was out of the house appearing on the drive to the Riddle House in Little Hangleton. When he saw no one else making their way up the drive he realised that this was not a mass summons, but he was still slightly bemused upon entering to find that Lucius Malfoy was the only other Death Eater present. After approaching where the Dark Lord sat he bent to one knee and bowed his head.

"My Lord," he said in greeting.

"Severus, you came quickly," the snake like man replied.

"I aim to please, My Lord," he responded automatically.

"Tell me Severus, did you know that this evening Harry Potter was expelled from Hogwarts by the Ministry?" the Dark Lord asked. It was not unlike him to get straight to the point, a quality that was very un-Slytherin.

"No My Lord I had not heard," he lied.

"Is Dumbledore begun keeping things from you Severus?"

"No My Lord, if I was to hazard a guess, I would say that Dumbledore will attempt to change the Ministry's mind before he informs the Order about this," he lied again, that was not guess work on his part, Dumbledore was doing just that as they were speaking.

"Lucius?" the Dark Lord questioned, looking to the other man in the room.

"Dumbledore was already at the Ministry by the time I received word of Potters expulsion My Lord," Lucius drawled.

"Is he likely to succeed?" the Dark Lord hissed.

"It is hard to say My Lord, the Minister is unlikely to listen, but Dumbledore will have the law on his side. As it stands only the Headmaster has the authority to expel students from Hogwarts," Lucius responded.

"I see… I see… What a shame then, having no wand and nowhere to hide would have made Potter so much easier to eliminate," the Dark Lord paused in thought then continued. "Tell me Lucius, what did Potter do to earn the Ministry's ire?"

"A Patronus Charm, My Lord, and in the presence of a Muggle."

"Did he really? Surely the boy is not that stupid? Severus?" the Dark Lord asked with a sinister smile.

"My Lord, while Potter is exceedingly arrogant and not overtly intelligent even I am reluctant to believe he would do something so imprudent, and My Lord knows how much I despise the ingrate."

"Yes," the Dark Lord smiled again. "Your hatred for the boy is well known, Severus, explain."

"My Lord," he said with a slight nod. "Potter has been previously warned about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery; apparently during the summer before his second year he used a hover charm to drop a pudding on the head of his Uncles, Muggle guest at dinner."

"Oh that is rich," snorted Lucius. "Dumbledore's golden boy in trouble for assaulting a Muggle with a pudding." Even the Dark Lord laughed, letting out a high pitched, blood chilling chuckle.

"So because of this warning you think that Potter is unlikely to use magic outside of school?"

"Yes, My Lord," he said before explaining his theory that it may have been a Dementor attack and that the Ministry was inadvertently doing the Death Eater's work for them.

The Dark Lord seemed to concur with his conjecture, and the thought that the Ministry may be unknowingly cooperating pleased him very much.

"And Lucius, what of your sources at the Ministry? Do you think Severus has the right of it?" the Dark Lord asked.

"My Lord, there are many in the Ministry that are working for your cause, and there are others that, while they may not know it, they are helping you greatly as the tirelessly deny your glorious return and work to discredit Potter and Dumbledore. What Severus said may very well be entirely accurate. I will attempt to find out whatever I can without drawing to much attention to my inquiry," Lucius said with a bow.

"Very well, and Severus I want to hear what Dumbledore had to say when I call you next."

"Yes My Lord," he and Lucius echoed. Both of them dropping to one knee and bowing before making their exit. As he planned before leaving Grimmauld Place he went to Manchester directly to his home in Cokeworth, rather than returning to The Order headquarters in London.


	8. Church Can Float?

Gemma  
The Moors

* * *

"You are over an hour late," she said pulling the door open and fixing her wayward brother with her best glare.

"That's what I need to talk to you about," he replied, calmly walking into the room.

"I really hope you're not planning on making a bunch of excuses, I'm not in the mood to hear them, it hasn't been the best day and I can't promise I'll stay civil if you do. There are very few rules I expect you to follow and if you have such a hard time keeping to them…" she didn't finish her thought, purposely leaving it open ended.

"No excuses, I promise. Although nine is a bit early don't you think? I am almost sixteen after all," he said flashing a bright smile, the kind he used when he charms people into giving him what he wants. Good thing older sisters were immune to the charms of little brothers. If she wasn't he would have the run of the house.

"Wipe that smile off your face, you little prat. My house my rules, we've been over this more than once. If you don't like it, you can always go back to living with that _wonderful_ _mother_ of yours," she retorted. The words wonderful mother so heavy with sarcasm it sounded like a curse.

"She's your _wonderful mother_ as well."

"Eh, semantics," she shot back waving his comment off. "I stopped claiming her years ago."

"Right… well listen, I didn't come to argue I came to talk to you about something that happened tonight… Hey, is that Church? I didn't know he could float."

She followed his gaze and indeed it did look as if Churchill was floating in the air. The Puffskein had made his way to the invisible Harry Potters lap. The last thing she wanted was for her brother to investigate the floating fur ball and find Potter sitting in the room. Her brother didn't yet know of her association with the Order of the Phoenix, and she wasn't sure she was ready to tell him. When she did finally tell him she wanted it to be less shocking than; '_oh hello, yes that's Harry Potter in our house. Just so you know I'm a member of a secret organisation run by Dumbledore behind the Ministry's back, whose mission is to bring down the Dark Lord and his followers. By the way I suppose I'm a blood traitor now.' _ She knew that he wanted nothing to do with the Dark Lord or being a Death Eater, but he'd been raised with the pureblood ideals, and she wasn't quite sure he'd completely learned to form his own opinions yet. So she went with distraction.

"I got you something tonight," she picked up the animal carrier and handed it to him. "Her name is Baset, after the feline goddess of ancient Egypt. She half Kneazle I thought you'd like her. If not, I'm sure she'd be happy to stick around and help us with the gnome problem in the back garden."

"Well thanks I guess… she is sort of cute I suppose. When did you get her? And why is Church floating? Wasn't that where the yellow chair goes?"

Damn his over observant personality, he notices everything and he's impossible to distract. "I moved the chair to my bedroom, I've been thinking about rearranging the furniture in here and I've never seen Churchill float either. I stopped and got Baset this evening on after I left the Ministry."

"What else did you do tonight? Because, no offence sis, you look like shite," he said looking her up and down.

"We'll get to that in a bit. First you're going to tell me why you were so late, and it better be good or you just might spend the remainder of the summer restricted to the house," she said directing him to sit on the settee across from her.

"There was a bit of a problem and Draco went into full meltdown mode tonight, I couldn't leave until I was sure that he was calmed down. What kind of best friend would I been if I left when he needed me?"

"What kind of meltdown? Are we talking first year Harry Potter got on the quidditch team meltdown or third year Granger punched him in the face meltdown?" she asked, knowing just how volatile Draco's moods could be.

"Worse," he answered.

"Worse?" she gasped, "what happened?"

"Well the Dark Lord came by the Manor tonight…" he started.

"WHAT?" she shouted in shock, cutting him off, "Tell me everything."

So he did, he told her about the Dark Lord's visit as they were flying, about the fight between the two older Malfoy's, about the talk with the house-elf, and about Draco's breakdown. When he was finished they sat in silence, she was stunned to say the least and he was waiting for her to say something. When she finally spoke her words sounded much harsher than she'd intended.

"Well first things first, you are no longer allowed to visit Malfoy Manor unless I am with you. Not if the Dark Lord just shows up unexpectedly, in fact I will be having words with Lucius about this. I will not stand for something like that happening again. If he wants to expose his son to that monster that is his choice, however misguided and appalling it is, but he has no right to expose you to that sort of danger. The last thing I want is for that psychopath to take notice of you, and Lucius Malfoy knows it. At least Narcissa seems to have kept some sense. I always thought she was too blinded by her love for that man to see his faults; thankfully it appears I was wrong. Good for her I say, and I hope for his sake he takes her threats seriously."

"You really think she'd kill him?" he asked more than slightly startled at the confidence her statement held.

"For her son? There's no doubt in my mind," she said with a nod and a heavy silence hung in the air as she rubbed her index finger over her bottom lip, something she did involuntarily when she was thinking. Tonight had not been a very good one, exciting obviously, but in terms of what made an enjoyable evening in her mind; peaceful, pleasant, safe, and perhaps exciting in a positive way, the events of this evening had been decidedly not enjoyable. She'd already begun to puzzle out how she way going to deal with the ministry and the dementor incident, but dealing with Lucius Malfoy was going to prove a challenge. Her words would have to be carefully chosen and threats would do absolutely no good. Lucius was a formidable opponent in any given situation, a dangerous one if wands were involved, and anyone who ventured onto his bad side should treat him with a measureable amount of caution if not outright fear. Well, that's to say if they are smart enough to realise whom they are dealing with in the first place. All of that aside, she has no particular reason to fear Lucius Malfoy, and it was her profound hope to keep things that way. Normally she would approach Narcissa with this, confident that the Malfoy matriarch would deal with her pernickety husband. At the present though, that would be less than effective, as she would hazard a guess that they are not currently on speaking terms. So she was back to the thoughts of choosing her words with the utmost care. This was one of the times when she found herself profoundly envying her younger brother's natural ability to say exactly the right thing precisely when it needed to be said. This was just what she needed on top of the Dementors.

"Now that that's out of the way, tell me about your night," her brother queried breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Well I've nearly finished the first part of my internship at the Ministry and I found out this afternoon that I will need a mastery to continue and that will take at least two or three more years," she started.

"Well, that should be easy enough, you're great with charms. Just go for a charms mastery," he interrupted raising an eyebrow at her.

"That would be the easiest course yes. Unfortunately it's not that simple, it seems quite a few people in my chosen field already hold a charms mastery. I was given a choice between potions and transfiguration," she replied, rather glumly.

"Right, but you have NEWT's in both subjects, you're smart. I fail to see the problem."

"It's not an easy process, trust me it makes the NEWT's look like a child's game. It requires working with a master of the subject, a dissertation, field studies and the creation of something new, like a spell or potion," she shook her head. "Of the two potions is my best subject. I'm decent with transfiguration, somehow I managed to scrape by with an E on my NEWT whereas I got an O on for potions, but I'm not particularly strong in transfiguration. I know enough and have enough skill in the subject to get by just fine for the rest of my life, but by no means do I have the talent required for a mastery in the skill. And potions are just so messy and foul, you know it was never a favourite of mine."

"How long did they give you to decide?" he asked.

"Three days," she answered.

"That's it? That seems ridiculously short. Three days to make the decision that will probably set the course for the rest of your adult life… right – that seems fair,"

"I know… but, that's not even the most interesting part of the night."

An owl flew in the window effectively cutting her off. It landed on the sideboard, and did not want to give her the letter, pulling away from her and nipping at her hands. She assumed that this meant it was for Potter and her assumption proved correct when she saw the name on the parchment. She debated over reading it or not, it wasn't addressed to her after all, but decided on reading it. Her brother would notice if she didn't, and was bound to question her on it. Nothing got past him and they shared everything, so he would wonder if she suddenly started acting secretive.

"What's the letter say?" he questioned just as she'd finished reading and slipped it in her pocket returning to her seat.

"There is a Ministry hearing on the 12th and I will need to be there as a witness. They are _trying_ to expel Harry Potter," she emphasised the word trying in hope that Potter would understand, that somehow Dumbledore had talked the Ministry down and they reversed their initial decision to expel him straight away.

"So what's that got to do with you?"

"I was just getting to that when the owl came. After I left the Ministry today I went to meet Mrs Arabella Figg, a squib who lives in Surrey, about the kitten. We happened upon a few Dementors who decided our happiness and souls we too good to pass up."

"What the fuck were Dementors doing in Surrey?" he asked.

"Language!" she admonished. "_Although_, that was pretty much my first thought upon seeing them as well."

"What's Potter got to do with any of this?" he questioned clearly confused.

"Well my dear little brother, I owe the fact that I've still got a soul to Potter. Turns out that he lives in the area, and he hadn't been there… well you can imagine."

"So you owe Potter…" he started.

"A life debt, yes I believe I do. The Ministry is trying to charge him with a breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and expel him from Hogwarts. Since he saved my life I can't let that happen."

"No, I guess you can't, that would be bad form wouldn't it. You've got to figure out what the bloody Dementors were doing in Surrey to begin with. Do you think that the Dark Lord did it? You say Potter lives in the area, maybe he knows and that's why the Dementors were there," he said looking very serious.

"Yes it would be terrible form," she replied. "But no, I don't think this was the Dark Lord at all. The Ministry still has control of the Dementors, if that had changed I would have heard about it at work. I think this was someone else, I don't know who would be foolish enough to set Dementors free in a Muggle neighbourhood, but I mean to find out."

He nodded in agreement but he was clearly thinking hard. After another long silence she decided it was time for him to call it a night.

"Listen it's late, go get some sleep now and we'll talk more about this in the morning."

He didn't argue like she expected, instead he nodded his head, got his feet, told her good night, and headed for his own bedroom. She waited until she was sure he was out of hearing distance before she turned to face the invisible chair and the seemingly floating Puffskein.

"You can come out, Potter. I expect you have even more questions now. Give me a few moments to take care of a couple things then we'll talk."


	9. The Amazing Floating Puffskein

Chapter 9  
Harry Potter  
The Moors

* * *

He quickly removed both the Puffskein from his lap and his invisibility cloak then sat back down in the yellow chair. Gemma was busy at the fireplace, making a floo call from the looks of things. So he sat back and thought over the last few minutes and the discussion he overheard between Gemma and her brother. Absentmindedly he sat petting the Puffskein, Churchill, that had somehow made its way back to his lap, going over the things he could be reasonably sure were fact, and the things he wasn't totally sure about. First was that Voldemort had been at the Malfoy house tonight, was it possible that he was responsible for the Dementor attack? That didn't seem likely since Gemma gave the impression that they were under Ministry control and she was sure that if Voldemort was controlling the Dementors the Order of the Phoenix would know about it. Another thing he knew for sure was that Gemma was genuinely angry that her brother, Blaise Zabini apparently, had been anywhere near Voldemort tonight. At least Zabini solved one thing puzzling him tonight. After she told him she had a brother in his year, he had wracked his brain trying to remember anyone named Farley but couldn't, they probably had different fathers. From the sound of the '_wonderful mother' _bit, they had the same mum, and Gemma said that her father died when she very young, so that made sense and explained the last name difference.

He was slightly shocked that Zabini didn't argue when she said he would not be going back to Malfoy Manor even though he considered Malfoy his best friend. Did that mean that he didn't hold the same ideals as Malfoy and most of the other students in Slytherin, his house at Hogwarts? He was fairly sure that the letter she'd read had been for him, judging by the owls reluctance to give it to her, and he wondered if the part about the Ministry 'trying' to expel him was her hinting at the contents of said letter.

He now knew that Malfoy, arrogant prat that he is, is having doubts about joining Voldemort and that Zabini, wanted nothing to do with the Death Eaters. He could remember now that she was one of the Slytherin prefects his first three years at Hogwarts, and this had him wondering how she'd ended up working for Dumbledore and against Voldemort when that was so uncharacteristic of most Slytherins' he knew. Would it be possible to bring more of the Slytherins' to their side, or at least convince them to remain neutral? That made him wonder how many other in Slytherin felt the same way, sure they were probably still a bunch of bigots, but if there was something that could be done to keep them from becoming more fighters for Voldemort's side he was all for it. He couldn't help thinking it was way too late to be pondering over such profound subjects.

"Buuurrrrrpp!" Churchill purred happily from his lap.

"You're telling me Church. What a day!" he said with a snort, giving the creatures fur a nice scratch. "Did you know that you're now Churchill, the amazing floating Puffskein?"

"I like that Potter," said Gemma walking back to the sitting area and taking a seat on the sofa opposite him. "The amazing floating Puffskein… it would make a smashing children's tale. Church seems to like you. I wonder where Clem's gone off to, I haven't seen her since we got here."

"He's not too bad I guess. Doesn't really do much though does he?" he asked with a smile on his face.

"I'll have you know, Potter, that he floats!" she scoffed, which set him off laughing. That's when he knew he was really tired, it was a little funny but there was no way it was laugh out loud funny.

"I've contacted members of the Order and they now know your whereabouts and that you are safe. I also passed on the information about the loss of the wards at the Muggles house. I wasn't able to locate Dumbledore but I am sure he will be informed soon. You will have to stay here tonight; hopefully tomorrow we will be able to take you to where the Weasley's are staying. Now to your questions, which I am sure are many."

"The letter that came while I was hiding was it for me?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied handing it to him. "I apologise for reading it but had I not Blaise would have thought that strange. He and I don't normally hide things from each other and if I'd been too cagy about a letter he would have wanted to know why."

"It's fine, I figured it was something like that. But why not just tell him I'm here?" he said reading the letter quickly. Gemma waited for him to finish the letter and put it away before she answered.

"As I said we don't _normally_ hide things from each other, that being said there is a couple of things I don't yet trust him with. And Order business is one of them. He knows nothing about my membership in the Order or my efforts on its behalf."

"Why not?"

"A number of reasons, chiefly I'm not sure he'd agree with me."

"But he seems like he's against Voldemort so he should," he said resolutely.

"It's not that simple Potter, while he has no intention of ever becoming a Death Eater he's not exactly a card carrying member of the Dumbledore and Muggle-born fan club. You have to understand that we were raised with a particular set of beliefs and when you are told one thing your whole life it's very hard to completely change that mind-set," she responded.

"But you changed yours."

"I did… but that was a journey I started on my own. I already had a poor relationship with my mother so it was easy for me to start questioning all the things she'd told me. I was in my third year at Hogwarts when I started really questioning the things I'd been told. Indulge me for a moment won't you? I am going to tell you a bit about my family. It's the easiest way to explain my change in thinking."

"All right," he relied simply.

"My maternal grandfathers' name is Giancarlo, he was born in 1920 in southern Italy to a magical family of African descent, that had been in Italy for several hundred years. The colour of his skin was no big deal at the time, although he was a minority, there were people from all different backgrounds scattered all over Europe. About twenty years later that would all change. In 1942 my grandfather and much of his family emigrated and ended up in England. In 1950 he met my grandmother, Solange St. Sauveur, also a pureblood of African descent, who left France around the same time he left Italy. Growing up my brother and I were told they left Europe for their safety and we were discouraged from asking anymore questions."

I knew there had been a dark wizard rising to power around that time, but they would have been no safer in England than anywhere else in Europe. So I started asking questions at Hogwarts, and that is where I got my answers," she paused and he remained quiet, somehow knowing she was not finished. He had a slight guess where this was going; her grandparents had fled Europe during World War II.

"Did you know that people were being persecuted and killed all over Europe, because they were different? Because they had a different skin colour, a different culture, a disability, a different ethnic background. It was the Germans who did it, and they went after anyone who wasn't like them, the disabled and infirm, the gypsies, people of Slavic descent, the blacks, and most of all the Jewish people. They set up camps, factories of death… and they killed millions. If you didn't fit in to their mould of the perfect Aryan race… it makes me sick just thinking about it," she paused taking a deep breath. "I mean – who does that? Death factories… The murder of millions…_Millions, _men, women, children… even tiny babies. They used blood-purity to determine if someone was Aryan enough to live or Jewish enough to die. One grandparent with Jewish blood and you were a Jew, therefore not worthy of life. Curious isn't it that in our world, one grandparent with Muggle blood makes you a half-blood?" she finished looking solemn, almost as if she was on the verge of tears.

"I'd never thought about it like that," he replied quite softly. "That's what made you change your mind?"

"Yes, my grandparents fled persecution because of the colour of their skin, yet they were seemingly okay with persecuting a witch or wizard because of their blood status. How are we any better than those Germans, those Nazi's, if we act just like them? Sure, there are no death camps here, but if the Dark Lord wins it's only a matter of time before they start to systematically rid our world of those they deem unworthy. I was brought up with the belief that purebloods are superior to everyone else, but how are we superior if we emulate the behaviour of the worst Muggles I've ever heard of? That is why I changed my mind and learned to start thinking for myself. Of course over the last few years I've learned many other things that make it impossible for all that purity rubbish to be true."

"Do you think he'll change his mind as well?"

"My brother? I hope so, I really do. But his problem with Muggleborns isn't just their blood status."

"What about Malfoy? Your brother thinks he seems reluctant about the Death Eaters," he probed.

"Reluctant yes, willing to change…" she shrugged. "That is an entirely different cauldron of potion altogether."

"Tell me more about the Order and what Voldemort is up to?" he requested as she flinched.

"I've asked you before not to say his name Potter, and don't give me that tripe about _'fear of a name…' _Sometimes fear is healthy, and where the Dark Lord is concerned, this is one of those times," she chastised.

"Fine tell me more about the Order and what _You-Know-Who_ is up to," he retorted rolling his eyes.

"There is not much to tell at this point, other than what I've already told you. The Dark Lord is keeping a low profile and the Ministry is feeding right into his hand by denying his return. The Order is attempting to remain one step ahead of him and so far that is working out well for us. Both groups are recruiting new members, and before you ask no, they won't let you join, you'll have to wait until you're out of Hogwarts for that. The Weasley twins already fought that battle and lost."

"They can't just tell me no, it's my fight as much as it is theirs, if not more," he spat in defiance.

"I realise that Potter, I am well aware that most of the members of the order have never even seen the Dark Lord face to face, let alone crossed wands with him as you have. I am just telling you the answer you're likely to get," she snapped at him. "Your godfather may see things your way to an extent, some of the others like Molly Weasley for example… not a chance. Don't fret about it too much right now; your friends have devised a way to listen in on all the meetings so they are well informed," she finished much calmer.

Well wasn't that just peachy news, his friends were well informed. Not that they'd seen fit to keep him informed about anything. He wondered briefly what they were using to listen in, and then wondered how it was that they hadn't been caught. If Gemma knew they were listening in how is it that none of the other Order members had caught on?

"How is the Order staying one step ahead of the Death Eaters? How do we even know what he's doing?" he questioned.

"Why we have a spy of course," she said with a smirk.

"Who's the spy?" he asked just as her floo flared to life.

Her smirk turned into a full blown smile as she answered. "You're about to find out, Potter."

"Miss Farley, may I step through?" asked a voice he was all too familiar with.

"Of course," she called. The flames flared and flashed bright green as his potions professor entered the room. Did she mean that Snape, his most hated professor was the spy? That couldn't be right Snape hated him, well Snape hated everyone who wasn't in Slytherin, but he hated Harry most of all. So why would Snape work for a group that's sole purpose was to help him and to bring down Voldemort?

"Dumbledore is quite incensed at the moment. In fact I've just finished receiving a verbal lashing the likes of which I've not experienced since I was a student. I half expected him to give me detention and dock points from Slytherin He was insisting that Potter be returned to his relatives in Surrey immediately, that he would know if the wards have fallen," he seethed without preamble.

"He can't send me back there! The wards really have fallen I felt it," he said jumping to his feet and pointing between himself and Gemma, "we felt it!"

"I am aware Potter!" Snape growled. "I went to the house myself right after Miss Farley contacted me, I checked the wards myself and the have indeed fallen. I attempted to explain this to the Headmaster but he would not hear it. So I took him there myself. Upon inspection of the house he relented. You will be staying here for tonight at least. "

"What is wrong with him? I swear his behaviour is becoming more and more peculiar, and that's saying something since he's always been a bit… eccentric," Gemma sneered. "Well I can tell you one thing; I would not have sent Potter back there, wards or no wards that was not an option."

"Why not?" Snape inquired as he began to pace behind the sofa.

"Don't tell me you don't know how they treat him?" she shot back.

"Like a prince I'm sure…"

"You have got to be joking!" she snapped interrupting him jumping to her feet as well. "Prince my arse! They are awful…"

"No it's fine – no big deal. You don't have to say anything," he interjected.

"It is a big deal, Potter," she countered crossing her arms over her chest.

"No, really Gemma, it's nothing, I'd rather not talk about it," he cut in his eyes pleading with her to understand.

"Potter…" she said, her tone clearly in warning.

"Please," he sighed. But of course all of the back and forth between them had caught the attention of the bastard in black; Snape had stopped pacing and was looking at him with a curious expression. If Harry really didn't want to talk about it that meant Snape really really wanted to know.

"Miss Farley, please continue. Potter will remain quiet, won't you Potter?" Snape asked his black eyes shining with malice.

"As I was saying," she started as she began to pace, "they are awful and by awful I mean absolutely horrid, vile and disgusting. The worst sort of Muggles I've ever met. They don't address him by his name, instead it's, you, boy or freak. And those are just the ones I heard. They loath magic and they made it blatantly obvious. Twice I watched his uncle become physically violent, and the second time he went as far as throwing Potter on the ground then slamming him into a wall. To top it all off, when they were told about the Dementor attack instead of thanking him for saving the life of their worthless son they chucked him out of the house," she hissed downright outraged, pacing at an almost frantic speed.

He sunk back into the chair slowly wishing he could somehow disappear. One of the people who hated him most in the world had just heard the most embarrassing thing he could think of, that his own family hated him. At that very moment the only way things could get any worse is if Malfoy had been there to hear it too. He closed his eyes and began to stroke Churchill's fur again, thankful that he was still holding the Puffskein. The distraction, however small, was an extremely welcome one.

Perhaps if he kept his eyes closed long enough they'd both vanish. Now Snape just had more ammunition for all the nasty comments he would send at him throughout the year and Gemma, he'd thought she was alright, now though he wasn't so sure. She seemed awfully close with Snape, well close enough that the man had been able to floo straight into her house when he hadn't been able to cross the wards unless they were touching. This made him wonder if maybe he'd trusted her too quickly, but she was with Mrs Figg when they met and she was working for Dumbledore's Order. Then there was the wards, those were still up when they'd first arrived at number 4 so she wouldn't have been able to come into the house if she meant him any harm right? And she did seem genuinely upset about the way the Dursley's treated him. So maybe he could trust her, but he didn't like this Snape thing, not one bit. What did Snape care how the Dursley's treated him anyway? The man hated him, loathed him, he'd made that clear the first time they met. He kept his eyes firmly shut, taking slow heavy breaths through his nose. His fingers seemed to be moving on their own slowing petting Churchill, and the Puffskein seemed perfectly happy to let him continue. He didn't hear any noise in the room, no footsteps, no clothing rustling, and that meant that they'd both stopped their pacing. He'd bet every last Sickle in his Gringotts vault that Snape was staring right at him.

"Look," he started not even opening his eyes. "Can we not do this tonight?"


End file.
